


The Jock and The Geniuses

by nanianela



Category: Gravity Falls, Rick and Morty
Genre: 1980s, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Aliens, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bottom Rick Sanchez (Rick and Morty), Chronic Pain, Citadel of Ricks, Council of Ricks - Freeform, Crossover, Dimension Travel, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Gen, I Don't Even Know, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Inspired by Fanart, M/M, Mixed Orientation Relationship, Parasitic Aliens, Plotty, Recreational Drug Use, Rick is 26, Rick is mismatched with his original universe idk what that theory is called, Romance, Roommates, Slow Burn, Stan and Ford are 22, Suicide Attempt, The Flesh Curtains, This got..... SO out of hand, Weird Plot Shit, asexual Stanley Pines, pansexual Rick Sanchez, rickcest - Freeform, takes place 1981 to 1982
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-08
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2018-05-05 11:30:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 192,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5373710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nanianela/pseuds/nanianela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Legend says there's a Rick Sanchez in every universe, and Stanley Pines just happened to be assigned one as his new roommate. It's 1981 the first time Stan meets Rick, when he drags him home from the bar Rick's being kicked out of.<br/>The two become roommates, opposite in many ways. Rick is a skinny pansexual in a rock band, a suicidal alcoholic trying to cope with being a dimensional drifter after his home universe was destroyed. Stan's a high school dropout, a thief and pickpocket who struggles with his asexuality and the absence of his brother. Stan's a powerful neutralizer for Rick's brain waves, perfect for when Rick is trying to lay low from the sinister and brand-new assembling Council of Ricks. And Rick reveals he's one of the rare people with an interesting trans-dimensional adaptation that <i>might,</i> emphasis on the might, lead him to immortality.<br/>Caught in a whirlwind of strangeness, the two young men find themselves falling for each other; until Rick disappears without a trace. It's not until many years later that they're brought back together.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick needs to be carried home.

_November, 1981_

It was getting colder; the young man buried his numbing hands in the pockets of his red-and-white letterman jacket. He exhaled a cloud of cigarette smoke, and in the low wind the haze illuminated a deep cadmium and floated, like a ghost, just above his head. He hated taking his hands out of the warm pouches of air in his pockets, so he kept his cigarette hanging in his mouth with his teeth. 

He couldn't believe he was actually doing this right now.

"This is  _such_  bullshit," Stan hissed aloud, and kicked an empty soda can, where it skittered out into the sun cracked street. He wished he was back in his apartment, warm and cozy, but instead he'd just  _had_  to pick up the ringing phone, hadn't he? 

It had been a slow night for Stan too, and now he was worrying about money all over again. Cold meant being forced to use the stupid heater, which meant more money on the electricity bill. He'd have to give up hustling pool around here soon, people were starting to catch on, and he'd rather leave this place with all his teeth in his mouth. 

Stan kept to himself as he slipped through the dark, just wanting to get this over with as soon as possible. This was the ugly part of town that every city hides somewhere. Trash was everywhere, collecting in soggy clumps like festering cold sores at the edges of the vertical mouths of gutters, shredded plastic bags stuck in leafless trees, the streets were covered in a layer of grime and blackened gum-spots, the neon signs that advertised  _Live Nude Girls_  shimmered flickery pink off sidewalks that were perpetually wet for not much of a reason- maybe it was water, if you were lucky. More often than not it was alcohol-laden piss from men dipping into alleyways to take a leak after the bar. 

Stan finally slowed at the address he'd been given over the phone. His new assigned roommate wasn't supposed to move in until tomorrow, but apparently the only telephone number he'd had on him was a crumpled piece of paper in his pocket, and the number had been to his new apartment— Stan's. The people at the bar decided to call so that someone would come and collect the idiot who was too belligerently drunk to handle himself. 

"You Pines?" The bouncer asked, keeping his arms crossed but nodding at him when he saw how Stan squinted at the glowing neon sign to read it. Mostly he could read signs okay, but this one happened to be smaller than usual. His vision wasn't  _that_  terrible, squinting usually seemed to do the trick just fine. 

Stan sighed out a large puff of smoke and nodded. "Yup," He replied, clearly irritated, and sacrificed pulling a hand from his pocket to run through his dark brown hair, brushing some of the longer strands that curled out over his ears and fell to the back of his neck out of his face. "Where's this knucklehead?" 

The bouncer finally undid his intertwined arms and pointed to a storefront right next to the bar, where a ruffled metal barrier had been pulled down for the night.

The stranger was propped up with his back against it, his impossibly skinny legs in their ripped black jeans splayed out in front of him. His clunky combat boots pointing skyward looked like they were in danger of slipping right off, the tongues were pulled out loose and the laces weren't tied together. He had plopped down without a care on the disgustingly grimy cement, and he was really having trouble holding his own head up. He kept hanging his head so his chin pressed to his chest, his empty bottle of vodka and few crushed beer cans were scattered around him.

"Fuuuuck you, Kev- _urrp_ -in." Even as drunk as he was, the guy still somehow managed to flip off the bouncer, even though his hand was swaying all over the place before wrapped his arms around his drawn-up knees and glared at Stan.

"Wh-who the fuckarryu?"

"You taking care of this?" The bouncer raised his eyebrows and pointed back at forth at the two of them. 

Stan realized he'd been chewing angrily at his cigarette, and it was burning to be very short now anyway. He spat it out and ground it out with his heel. "Yeah yeah, I got it." Stan sighed. 

"Get out of here, Sanchez. Your roommate's here." The bouncer rolled his eyes. "Come on. This is the third time this month. Don't make me call the cops again." 

The stranger mumbled, possibly trying to do a whiney mimic of what the bouncer had said but he was too drunk to remember enough to recite it word for word. He tried to get up, but his lanky limbs didn't seem to be cooperating. He let out a drunken groan and finally managed to prop himself up on his hands and knees.

Stan swept his eyes over him, trying to observe who he'd have to be stuck living with, starting tomorrow. The guy seemed like a bit of a punk. For one, his brown hair was a complete mess and flopping everywhere, and both wrists were covered in leather bands, jade and wood-beaded bracelets, and his thin fingers that were splayed out on the concrete were covered in rings. He was wearing a thick black peacoat, but somehow one of his arms had escaped from the sleeve and Stan could see his grey tank top underneath with the armpit holes cut down very low, and Stan could easily have counted each one of his individual ribs. 

Stan crouched down and squatted next to the bean pole of a guy. He just now noticed there were piercings all the way up the ridge of his ear. "Are you okay to walk?" He asked gruffly.

"The fuck's it look like?" Rick shot back irritably, then his back arched as he puked a greenish vomit all over the sidewalk. He groaned and reluctantly shoved his arm back into its thick coat sleeve, then wiped the bottom of the sleeve across his shiny mouth.

" _Ughhh_ ," Rick pushed away from the sick and curled around himself, resting his cheek on the grimy sidewalk.

"Get. Up. Move it, wino." Stan hissed, he gripped hard onto the stranger's thin bicep and tugged. "You heard him. If I don't get you out of here, they're calling the fuzz." 

" **Hah!**  Right." The man mumbled into his kneecaps peeking out of the rips of his black jeans. He was a lot lighter than Stan was expecting, and just tugging on his arm he could lift him up off the ground. 

" _Ow_!" He yelped and shrugged hard out of Stan's grip and rubbed his arm. "You think 'cuz you've got those — big arms y-you're the shit or something?! Asshole." 

"Listen punk, I'm trying to  _help_  you!" Stan insisted, even more annoyed now. Stan huffed irritably and pulled at him again, forcing him to his feet. Stan guided his skinny arm to sling over the back of his neck. Rick was probably around four or five inches taller than him, so his shoulders were a good height for him to lean on. "I guess the only phone number you had on you was to my -ahh, fuck- _our_  apartment." Stan had practically been on his knees begging his landlord to stay as a single in his room, but that would have included a price hike he couldn't afford, so he'd needed to bite the bullet and accept a roommate. This was  _leagues_  beyond his worst case scenario. 

"So, I'm taking you home.  _Now_. I am not letting the cops anywhere near me."

"Ha- _ha!!_ " The skinny stranger forced out a laugh and stuck two middle fingers up at the bouncer, one from over Stan's shoulder. "You hear that,  _Kevvvvvin_?? He's taking care of me!" He mocked in a told-you-so manner, then slipped a silver flask from his inner pocket of his coat, tipped his head back, and began to chug it down as if finding someone to take care of his drunken ass was a victory worth celebrating.

"What the  _hell_  are you doing?!" Stan demanded, trying to snatch the thing away. The man only mumbled something and then his neck went limp and his cheek flopped heavily to Stan's shoulder, his elbow folded around the back of his neck, but he still managed to keep an iron grip on the flask of his.

" _No!_  Listen pal, just because I came all this way to get your sorry ass doesn't mean you can get even  _more_  drunk!" 

"Hehh..." Rick grinned drunkenly. "Sorry, Brawny." 

Stan scoffed and tried to just concentrate on dragging the guy home with as little injury as possible to the both of them. The other guy's feet didn't seem to be cooperating very well, and they kept dragging along the ground as the two of them stumbled along. 

"Y'know, you never told me your name." Stan grunted as he helped him get up another curb as he stumbled and almost tripped again. 

"Mike Hawk," Rick replied, snickering into the side of his flask before tipping another swig back. It looked like his body was going to follow the motion of his head as he began to tip backwards. 

"Stop  _drinking!_ " Stan held his back so he wouldn't fall over backwards and pried the flask from his hand one finger at a time, finally twisting away from the stranger's grabbing hands. "This is staying with me for now." 

" _Fine!_  It's Rick," He admitted. "Now g-give me the flask!"

"C'mon, just concentrate on your feet, okay?" Stan huffed in annoyance. "We're almost there." 

"...Why're you helping me," Rick mumbled drunkenly and let Stan be his supporting weight as they stepped -or more like shuffled- together, making at least some progress to get to Stan's shitty apartment. "You coulda just ignored the call." 

"I don't really know." Stan replied earnestly. "You seem like kind of a jerk, actually." 

"The biggest jerk," Rick grumbled. " _Ughhh_. I'm aboutta--"

"Wh-" Before Stan could even process it, his shoes were splattered with more greenish vomit. Stan felt his own stomach spasm and he used his free hand to clamp over his mouth. Rick went even more limp against him, and it looked like his eyes had fallen shut. "I  _swear_ , if you yack on me again I'm dropping you in the nearest dumpster. You can sleep there for all I care!"

"Erghh," Rick groaned, his knees buckling.

Stan was quick to steady him by planting a firm hand on his chest before he could fall completely forward, but he knew he couldn't get him to go much of anywhere now. The good news was he was probably in the ballpark of a hundred or so pounds, and Stan could easily manage that for the two-ish blocks left back to his apartment.

Stan hadn't used the Fireman's carry in a while, he surprised himself that he even still remembered how to do it. He slung Rick's arm over his neck and down, bringing his body with it to rest across his shoulders. Stan locked his elbow into the crook of Rick's knee and held tight as he rose from his crouch. 

Stan gritted his teeth and continued on, it was surprisingly a lot easier to carry him this way than he'd thought it would be. Rick's cheek pressed to the edge of his shoulder, and he was drooling on it. Stan shuddered as he felt the gooeyness slip down his shoulder. Stan wrinkled up his nose in disgust and just kept walking on. 

Great. 

Life was really looking up, wasn't it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there reader! Okay so a few things :P  
> This is... extremely long. I really couldn't tell you how it got this out of hand. So:  
> Estimated Read Time: about 14 to 16 hours  
> (Estimated _Write_ Time: trust me you don't even wanna know)  
>  \-------  
> More information on FANART and what has changed:  
> In my previous message, I said that: _Disclaimer: Most of this fanart was NOT drawn for me or for this story! I will link everything to a source so you can use it, reblog it, and get connected to the artist. I just respected a general wish to include sources. But I will happily remove anything if asked!_  
>  However, this is not how I should have done things, and I've realized this wasn't cool and I've explained why [here](https://nanianela.tumblr.com/post/169933269076/i-wanted-to-put-this-out-there-so-that-others). So, I've compiled a list of links of the photos I had used instead, and have removed them being embedded from this story because that wasn't what I should have done without direct messaging the artists first. See the list below :)  
> 1 x  
> 2 x  
> 4 x  
> 5 x  
> 6 x, x  
> 7 x  
> 8 x  
> 9 x  
> 10 x, x  
> 13: x, x  
> 14: x, [x](%E2%80%9C), x  
> 16: [x](%E2%80%9C),x  
> 18: x  
> 20: x  
> 21: x,x  
> Feel free to message me if you have any more questions about the fanart aspect.  
> \---------
> 
> These first few chapters are short, but they get much longer later on!
> 
> Also, I get that this might seem out of character, I found that as this story grew longer these characters began to take a life of their own, they became something of my own interpretation and rendition. Please bear in mind, I actually started this fic with close to zero planning and just wanted to go wild and have fun writing, but I really hope you'll like my take on this relationship!  
> I love reviews, so don't be shy!!!  
> You can come find me on my [fandom](http://nanianela.tumblr.com/) tumblr! ;)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You let a dude crash on the couch for one night, the next thing you know your living room has a gigantic blackened pit in it. Oh sure, pretend like that's never happened to you before.

"Brawny!" Rick called from the living room couch, squishing his cheek into his pillow in exhaustion. He waited a second with his eyes closed, trying to listen if the guy who dragged him back to his place last night was awake. Damn, he was hungover. The guy had taken off Rick's combat boots for him, which were neatly set side-by-side by the couch. He'd even given him a pillow and a blanket, which was more than Rick usually would have asked for. Well, not like he could have asked for much in the first place, seeing he'd been more or less unconscious. Rick's stomach rolled forward slowly and he felt a familiar wave of nausea pass over him. He could hear his footsteps from the other room, so Rick knew he was there.

" _Braaaaaaw-nyyyy_!" 

" _ **What?!** "_  Stan replied snappily from the other room. He finally curled his fingers over the doorpost and leaned in to see what was going on in the living room. Rick met his eyes like a guilty puppy, then with a loud retch threw up off the side of the couch where it splattered to the floor.

" _RICK!_ " Stan gasped in a mix of anger and astonishment, his nose wrinkling up in disgust. After last night, how did this guy even have anything left in his system?

"R-Relax....I'll take care of it..." Rick groaned, squinting and clearly very hungover, and fumbled in his pocket for a second. He brought out something thin and silver, which looked almost like some kind of fancy fountain pen. "It - _urp_ \- vaporizes liquids. Watch." The pen shot out a red laser line that scanned the puddle of yellow vomit, then snapped back into the pen with two cheery beeps.

Nothing seemed to have changed whatsoever.

"Well that didn't-" Stan was interrupted when another bright white flash burst out of the pen, and the two were left blinking at a smoldering, blackened explosion. Stan was speechless as he stared wide-eyed and slack-jawed at the burst of black that slightly cratered the floor. 

"...Oops." Rick stared down at it too, his mouth pursed in unexpected surprise.

"You know what? I think now would be the perfect time for you to _leave_." Stan managed to say through interlocked teeth. "You have get all your things to move in today, right? You should be able to find the door just fine." He turned away, his fists clamped tight together as he tried to contain his anger. He could always get a rug to cover that disaster up, right? 

"Hm. I get it now." Rick piped up from behind his back. "You've seen our type before." 

Stan had to turn around again and came back into the living room. Rick propped his elbows up on either side of him on the couch, and he was smirking hard at Stan like he knew something he didn't. Now that he was in the natural light and Stan wasn't squinting to see in the dark and amber-washed streetlights, he could finally see his face clearly.

He had a sharp, straight nose, and he had eyebrows that were almost connected into a unibrow, which was strange considering they had a sharp arch to them and thin tails. He still looked like a typical punk, but something in those eyes. Stan had seen it before, the purple exhaustion under them, the sharp and cutting intelligence masked underneath, even the grief that kept his eyelids hanging slightly lower than they were meant to. 

"What _type_?" Stan asked quietly, his facial expression fallen into one of disbelief. 

Rick's bracelets clicked softly together as he motioned. "A Genius. And I'm not s-saying that to flatter myself, because it's not _flattery_ , it's fact." He wiped away some of the drool from his whiskery chin. "And yu-you've seen one of us before. I can tell." 

Stan's expression must have given him away immediately. As a con man, it infuriated him. He was good at being anything he needed to be in the moment; a fumbling newbie at pool, a foreigner from Russia, the jock who stands in front of a high school party and takes five bucks for guys and two bucks for girls, even when it was always meant to be free. Ford was his only weak spot, the only thing that gave away his true feelings very plainly on his face every time. 

" _Interesting_ ," Rick smirked and leaned further back into the couch, twiggy arms splayed out, slowly passing the pink tip of his tongue over his lips.

"How did you...?" Stan asked carefully, taking a few steps closer.  

"You weren't impressed by my invention, for one." Rick rolled his eyes. "-And I worked really hard on it." He tacked on, whining.

"Okay, but that's because it doesn't _work_." Stan felt his anger at his ruined floor return and itch in his palms. 

"Anyone normal wo-would have freaked at the sight of it." Rick shrugged. He pulled out his gadget again and squinted at it. "I really thought it would work. Good thing I did a test run." 

"Yeah, good thing you did that on _my_ floor." Stan's sarcasm was practically dripping. "What were you planning on using it for? Flooding? Leaks?" His mind went to an even graver place. _Evidence? Blood?_

Rick chuckled and met his eyes. "Do I look like the kind of person who makes things for the benefit of others?" He laughed again. " _Me_. Helping others." He snorted and twisted the silver contraption within his fingers. 

"So, that's a no...?" 

"Post-sex cleanup." Rick winked mischievously and finally tucked the device back into his inner pocket. "I get pretty lazy after I've had a good orgasm. This thing gets rid of semen like nobody's business. Have you ever had dried semen stuck in your hair? Yeah, it-it's not a lot of fun."

Stan was once again struck dumb. "You could have _killed_ someone!" 

"Well, look at you, Mr. G-Goody friggin' Two Shoes. Ooo, look at me, I've never killed anyone before!" Rick wiped at his mouth again. "Shit, I need a drink. W-Where'd you hide my flask?" 

The things Stan wanted to say caught in his throat and he sputtered for a moment before being able to actually form words. "You-you're crazy!" Well, that would have to do.

"Y'know, I'd think someone who's known another Genius would avoid using the c-word." Rick shrugged, unbothered, going right back to toying and fidgeting with his bracelets. "You're not going to tell me who it is, are you?" 

" _No!_ You don't even know _my_ name yet, why should I be telling you anything about me?" Stan huffed and had to pinch the bridge of his nose to try and calm down, or he was going to bust in some faces. He hissed out a breath from his interlocked teeth. He hated thinking about his brother, hated missing him. Every time someone brought him up it was like tearing open a wound again that was working so hard to scar over.

Rick scoffed and laid back down, kicking his feet to cross at the ankles over the armrest. "So, I guess this is a one bedroom?" 

Stan rubbed a hand down his face. "Yeah, but there's no way in hell we're sharing it." He replied irritably. "My bed's already in there, and I was here first, so it's mine." 

"Well, how much are you paying a month for this shithole?" Rick played with some of his dangling bracelets nonchalantly.   

"That's really none of your damn business." Stan growled. He was really thinking about throwing him over his shoulder again and tossing him out his front door, just so he could get a moment of peace. 

"I think I'm paying more than you." Rick rested his palms under his head so his elbows jutted out. "Just- _urrgp_ \- saying. What are you living in an elephant dump of a place like this for, anyway?" 

" _You're_ living here, too-!" Stan sighed. Rick just smirked back at him.

Stan growled, a defeated sagging in his shoulders. "I'm never in one place for very long anyways, I guess."

"Well, if you want the truth, I went and got drunk last night 'cuz I _-urp-_ got kicked out of my last place three days ago." Rick shrugged. "For experiments gone wrong, really loud sex, I accidentally gave the entire building an outbreak of chicken pox. Well, at least they _thought_ it was chicken pox. Th-There's not really a name for it yet. They got fed up with me, I get it. I think the last straw was accidentally making my landlady's dog lose all its fur and sprout some squiddy suction cups all over." He waggled his hands vaguely. "Yeah, I guess that was the last straw." 

Stan rested his shoulder on the wall and crossed his arms. "I'm convinced that maybe I'll just move out of this place and hit the next state over." He couldn't believe his luck. This was going to be the roommate from hell. 

"Hear me out, okay? I have money, I'll pay for eighty percent of rent. Just out of the goodness of my heart."

Stan stared him down, unamused. _Yeah, right._

" _Finnee_ , because I'm desperate to stay here." Rick rolled his eyes. "And this place is probably a lot cheaper than my last anyway."

"Well, I'm not giving up my room." 

"So, I'll take the living room." Rick sat up and pointed to an empty space by the three-sided bay window. "I'll put my twin up by that window. Come on, I'd be doing that and paying eighty percent." 

He really could use the extra money, Stan thought. The people at most all of the grocery stores in walking distance were probably getting pretty suspicious.

"You're smarter than you give yourself credit for, y'know that Brawny?" Rick yawned. "But even someone a lot dumber than you would take this deal."

"What's the catch?" Stan prompted. When your entire career revolves around bullshit, you catch on pretty quick. "This isn't exactly the Ritz. You couldn't be that desperate to settle on this crappy place without looking somewhere else first."

"Fine. One little catch." Rick started. "Uh... I shouldn't be living alone. Too many people I've pissed off." 

"So you're thinking I'd protect you?!" Stan couldn't believe how much anger flooded into his stomach, it almost made him see red. "You see I can carry you back from a bar and lift you off your feet with one arm, and you think you can make me- your personal guard dog or something? I should have known you'd be selfish... just like... just like _him!_ " He growled deep in his throat. He couldn't believe he'd let that slip out. 

Rick stared at him, bored and blinking blearily, as Stan trembled in place. He clasped his hands together calmly in his lap. "You don't scare me, Brawny." 

"My name is _Stan!_ " Stan hissed, fists balled up and shaking. "But I guess you keep calling me that 'cuz that's the only thing you wanted from me. I know your type. You use people and... and dump them out when you're done!" 

"Sure," Rick said hollowly. He was slipping yet another contraption from his inner pocket. "Do me a favor, look here?" 

 "Look... wha-?" A flash went off and Stan hit the floor with a very loud thud.

Rick pocketed his handheld knockout invention and went over to Stan's limp body. He tried hard to move him by pulling on his arm, then hooked under his armpits, but he could barely budge him. He put his shoulder on him and tried to push, then flipped on his back and his feet scrambled along the floor, but he'd barely moved Stan's body an inch.

"Well....looks like I di _-urrrp-_ idn't think that one through." 

*  *  *

"Yeah, it should be wearing off any minute now." Rick glanced at one of his three wristwatches. "Birdperson, go ahead and put that box right by the bed. Great." 

"...What the fuck?" Stan moaned and held his head, finding himself laying flat on his back on the floor. His head throbbed, and he pressed cautiously on the tender lump that was forming on the back of his head.

He squinted at Rick and shot him the middle finger, then went back to pressing at the forming lump. "Ahhhgod," He moaned, twisting over to crawl up on his hands and knees. Why was it so dark in here? " _What the fff_ \- what time is it?" 

"Eight," Rick answered, motioning rapidly at Birdperson, who was already climbing out of the window and giving him a tiny smile and a thumbs up. 

"Who are you talking... _whatthefuck_!!" Stan full-on shrieked, pressing his hand to the middle of his chest. "What the hell was that thing?" 

"You're... uh... hallucinating? You should sit down." Rick guided him to the couch. 

"What the _hell_ is all this?" Stan mumbled sleepily once he sat down. "Boxes? Oh, you _didn't_." He seethed.

"I'll still be paying eighty percent of the rent like I said." Rick said smugly. "It's like I'm _hel-ping_ you." 

"No, **_you_** don't help people.I helped you and I'm starting to regret that, I don't think I'm going to help anyone ever again." Stan cradled his head in his big hands. "Did you get me with a horse tranquilizer or something? _Damn_."

 "Something like that. It uses light to interfere with brain waves- I could spend years explaining it to you. So let's move on." Rick waved the comment away. "I guess I'm your new roommate!" He was being extremely chipper, just because he knew it was annoy the hell out of Stan.

"God, my head hurts too much to be dealing with this right now." Stan mumbled.

"Look, you know another Genius. That's what I didn't say before. Sure, maybe I want a roommate whose a lot stronger than I am, it might come in handy one day. But the bottom line is, you've known another person like me." Rick fiddled with the contents of one of his boxes. "Not many people can wrap their heads around the things we do. Maybe... you'll treat me like I'm normal." 

_Sixer!! Sixer!!_

_Gross, we don't want to see that!!_

_You should just cut it off!_

_Ew, don't touch me!_

**_Freak!!_ **

Stan chewed on his lip for a second in thought. He finally lifted his eyes to meet Rick's, and for once he saw something that may or may not have resembled something genuine.

 _I get it,_  Stan thought about saying. He licked his lips. "You said eighty percent?" He said instead. 

Rick shrugged. 

"Make it ninety." Stan couldn't help but grin. "It's the least you could do after, I don't know, _stepping over my unconscious body to get your stuff in here,_  without my permission. Actually, without anything even _close_ to my permission."  

"Ugggh, fine." Rick flopped back down on the couch next to him and kicked his feet up on the coffee table. "Then I want my band to practice in here, too." 

It was Stan's turn to shrug. There wasn't much he could say after this strange whirlwind. 

"I told you I was the biggest jerk. I gave you a warning, but you didn't listen. So maybe all this is actually your fault." Rick actually laughed, looking around all his unpacked stuff. Stan wasn't sure if he'd even be able to properly get around until this stuff was unpacked. The place was verging a little past "cozy" territory and a lot more into "cramped". 

"Y'know, I think we're gonna be _great_ roomies." Rick settled comfortably into the couch with a sigh and sucked on his flask. 

Stan's head was still throbbing on. "You know what, sure. Why the hell not. Not like I had any say anyway. Pass me that." 

Rick handed him the flask, and looked a bit amused he'd asked. "It's strong."

"Good. Cuz that's exactly what I need right now." Stan replied snarkily, and tried very hard not to show how much it burned his throat on the way down. Tears forced themselves out of the corners of his eyes. Not coughing had never been harder.

At least Rick had put a rug over part of the floor he'd ruined while he was moving in, but Stan knew that was going to be far from the last "incident". _**All this** because I tried to be a decent guy for once_.

Never again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mismatched socks are one thing, universes, though...

The fire alarm shrieked, and Stan woke up and grumbled, running a hand down his face. " _RICK!_ " He hollered, stuffing his pillow over his ears. Nope, he could still hear the rapid beeping loud and clear through it. It was weird that the thing was even working in the first place, Stan did plenty of smoking indoors since he'd moved in. It must have been a lot of smoke to actually set the piece of garbage off for once. 

"I got it, I got it!" The beeping stopped abruptly, and Stan was _not_ going to pay to replace the thing if Rick had just gone and ripped it out of the wall. Stan rolled over and tried to fall back asleep, but a rancid burnt smell crept into his nostrils very soon after that. Stan groaned loudly and rolled out of bed, rubbing at his eyes. 

"Jesus," Stan stopped short in the doorway, his jaw dropping. Rick was in the middle of the living room in a blackened pit about a knee deep, and still going downward, equipped with nothing but a shovel and his pen vaporizer contraption. 

"Thanks to our little test run, I realized my liquid vaporizer might work better as a... rock clearer.. thingy." Rick gestured vaguely and gave the thing a twist and it began to charge with a rising high-pitched whine. "Gave it a few tweaks last night, now it works better than ever!" 

"Goddammit, Rick." Stan covered his eyes, like maybe when he took his hand away again the giant pit would be gone. "I need coffee before I can even begin to deal with this." 

"Look, they'll never know." Rick brushed off his knees. "I'l make a trapdoor, indistinguishable to anyone but me with a lock and code. Good thing you live on the ground floor." 

"First of all... why are you doing this?" 

"I need a Lab. _Duh._ What, you think I'd be making all my shit out in the open like some kind of- of sucker?" 

"A **_Laboratory_**? And where, exactly, are you going to get all the electricity for this-?" Stan stopped in his tracks, sighing deeply and covering his eyes with his palm.

"Fffuck," He huffed in annoyance and realization. "....I'm not going to be saving anything on rent, am I?" 

Rick shrugged, avoiding his eyes and turning once again to his pit. "Who knows." 

"Rick, if rent goes up for me, I _swear_ -" 

"Reee-lax, hotshot." Rick rolled his eyes. When Stan didn't budge, he prompted by lifting his eyebrow. "Well? Are ya gonna help me or not?" He picked up another shovel he'd had waiting at the pit's edge and extended it to him. "Your arms are looking like they need a little work."

"Ha, ha." Stan rolled his eyes. _Wait... do they?_

"How long's it been since you worked out? You're lookin' a little doughy-" Rick smirked, as Stan crouched down and hopped into the pit. 

"Alright, alright, already!" Stan barked back. He dug the shovel into the blackened ground, and kicked it down with his heel with a grunt. He accidentally jabbed Rick as he pulled it back up, seeing as their wasn't much space in the pit in the first place. 

"Oof!" 

"Sorry," Stan mumbled. "How long do you think this will take, anyway? Can't you speed this up with some kind of diggy invention?" Stan pointed to Rick's blaster pen. "Maybe strap that on top of something else, so it can soften the ground and then dig it out." 

"Hey, yeah!" Rick chuckled. "Great idea. I'll start working on that." He began to crawl out of the pit once again. 

"I'm not _that_ stupid!" Stan scoffed. "You think i'm just going to keep digging this thing while you tinker around?" 

Rick shrugged, now standing a good few feet over Stan who glowered at him from in the pit, the shovel balanced over one of his shoulders.

"What's the difference between this and lifting weights? Huh?" Rick squinted, trying to find a particular box.

"Um, _a lot_!" Stan swiveled to keep talking to him as Rick made his way to one of his unpacked boxes and began to rummage in it, dipping further and further into it until all Stan could see was his lower back. "For one, I wouldn't get all this nasty burnt-up dirt all over me?" 

"What, you don't shower after you work out?" Rick emerged from his box, making that punchable, smug expression again. 

"Fuck this, man." Stan threw the shovel down with a clang and wiped his forehead, leaving an impressive black smear. "If you want a Laboratory, dig it _yourself_." 

"I'll take another five percent off of your rent if you help." Rick examined some kind of piece of green motherboard, turning it over and over in his hands before tossing it over his shoulder with a scoff and diving into his cardboard box once again, a few packing peanuts jumping out and gathering around it. 

"So what, you're paying ninety-five percent now?" Stan lifted an eyebrow. "There's always a damn catch with you, isn't there?" 

"Well, for ten percent of the new rent, with all the electricity going in to power this thing, there might be a _slight_  increase from your current rent." Rick ducked just in time to dodge a large dirt clod thrown at fastball speeds at his head.

"Hey! I'm being _honest_ , isn't that what you wanted?!" Rick shot back, wiping off what had landed on his shoulder from the clod's spray of dirt.

"So if I help you with this, I'm only paying five percent?" 

"Y-Yeah, sure, whatever," Rick said from inside his cardboard box. "Now where is that damn thing..." 

 "God _damn_ ," Stan swore under his breath, but kept pushing the shovel into the dirt and tossing it up out of the pit until he'd scraped off all that had been softened by the blaster. Shitty people and their stupid money. He swiped at his forehead again, which was quickly beading with sweat. "Hey Rick, I gotta use that pen again."

Rick, without even looking, tossed it at him as he continued his dig through his packed things. "Just give the top a twist, it'll turn from red to green when it's charged. Then just hold down the top." He paused a second. "And aim it away from yourself, all right?" 

"I'm not _that_  stupid." Stan waited for the green light, aimed, and held down the top of the pen. He hadn't noticed as he'd been sleeping, but the device made a high-pitched screech as it blasted out light, maybe he could only hear it when he was close enough to it. Piercing pain shot through his skull, and Stan dropped the pen and immediately clamped over his ears. The tinnitus in his right ear blared like a swarm of angry mosquitos, and after a short grunt he straightened up again, keeping his pinky finger stuck in his ear canal. 

Rick didn't seem to give him a second glance, and Stan decided that he really was an asshole.

"Not that you _care_ , but I have some pretty bad tinnitus from when I used to box." Stan called up at him. "So, I can't use this thing. You'll have to press the button from now on."

"Yeah, you're right! I don't care." Rick replied dismissively, and sat criss-crossed and turned another weird metal thing with tons of colorful wires over and over in his hands. Stan rolled his eyes, but continued digging on the newly blackened piece of dirt below him, getting a good rhythm going. _I'll show him whose arms are getting 'doughy',_ he thought and pitched the shovel back in with a grunt. He couldn't back down from another five percent, now that he'd been pulled into this situation. _Fuck this Lab, Fuck this roommate_...

Each slide of the shovel seemed to go to the beat. _Five per-cent, five per-cent.._

*   *   *

After about an hour of digging and Rick's tinkering, the pit in the middle of their living room had gotten quite a bit larger. "This robot can probably handle the rest," Rick scrutinized his invention again, squinting at it as he held it like one would a turtle. Stan climbed out and splashed his face in the kitchen sink, he could already tell how bad his arms would ache tomorrow. As he was patting off his face with the bottom of his tee, Rick cleared his throat.

"And here," Rick's demeanor was as if he were handing him a piece of garbage he was too lazy to throw away himself, but he extended his hand and plopped something tiny but seemingly hi-tech into Stan's palm. 

"What is it?" Stan asked, pinching it delicately and bringing it up to his eye to inspect cautiously, like it would start shooting lasers at him at any second. There were a few spots were he could see the thin, multi-colored wires and the metal within, but most of it was covered by a squishy substance that seemed almost waxy. It had a long, string cable extending as if it were a keychain. He pinched this cable and let the tiny contraption dangle, where he brought his eye a bit closer to inspect it further as it swirled and spun in place. 

"You put it in your ear." Rick didn't even look at him as he explained, he clamped something to a nodule on his motherboard and fiddled around with it. "It took, like, three minutes to make. It emits an inaudible tone that- actually, you wouldn't understand the science behind it." Now he was just being facetious. "It'll... uh... help with the ringing in your ear. The more you leave it in, the longer it works when it's out. Maybe leave it in overnight. Or something." He shrugged. "But don't blame me if the radioactive battery waves m-make you grow a third eye or whatever. Use at your own risk." 

Stan had had Ford rant to him for long enough that he knew something this small couldn't possibly have whatever "radioactive battery" Rick was hinting at. It was a really nice gesture, Stan thought. And for some reason, he could tell that Rick had taken extra measures to make sure the device would be perfectly safe to wear for hours at a time. 

"Uh. Thanks." Stan closed his fingers gingerly around it, getting up to put it on his bedside table in his room so he wouldn't forget to try it out tonight. 

"Don't mention it." Rick said, and Stan could tell he actually meant that. _What an odd guy_ , Stan thought as he placed the device next to his lamp. By the time he got back into the kitchen, Rick was already almost slamming the front door closed.

"Where are you going?" Stan called after him, confused. 

" _Out_ ," Rick scoffed. "W-What are you, my mom?" And with that, the door slammed closed, leaving Stan alone in the apartment with a gigantic, gaping pit behind him. He ran a hand down his face, getting even more dirt on it when he'd just cleaned it off. It was only then that the gravity of what he was doing sunk in. If his landlord caught him with this, forget about any money he had stuffed under his mattress. God, he'd be in debt for _years_.

And debt meant no more anonymous contributions to Ford's research when he could scrape up a little extra, and that meant... well, Stan didn't quite know what that meant. See, it had been like putting duct tape on an earthquake rift, but it least it had been _something_  helping him keep it together, something that let him feel some purpose. His deepest fear was having to look his life in the eye and know, deep down, it had no meaning. But, he hadn't gotten to that point yet. So he put a can of Spagetti-O's directly on the stove, and tried to scope out where he could cruise to swindle some high schoolers for alcohol money at the door. 

*   *   *

Stan bolted awake as he heard a loud crash and the door slamming from the living room. His hand shot out to fumble for the bat he kept leaning on the wall next to his bed, because for a second, he'd forgotten he actually had a roommate now. He remembered just as his fingers had curled around the freezing cold metal, and he let go once again. He sat back in his bed, breathing a sigh of half-relief, half-fuck this.

This Rick guy was going to be the death of him. He willed himself to get out of bed for half a second, then swung his legs out and stood up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and pulling the contraption from his ear by the string and putting it back on the bedside table. 

He caught a very drunk Rick almost falling over himself, picking up pieces of the broken ceramic bowl with his bare hands in the dark. Stan could already tell from his doorway that his hands were bleeding. 

"Stop," Stan called out, his voice raspy with sleep. 

"No, I'll do _wh_ - _whateveeeeeeer_ I want." Rick retorted, not even missing a beat. He reached for another white shard, and he left a thumbprint of bright red on it. Stan groaned and crouched over him, swatting his other hand away and guiding him by the shoulders to stand up straight and head toward the kitchen sink, where it wasn't hard to have all the broken pieces fall out of his limp grip into the sink. 

"Fuckkyu, man. I'm jusss...  _jusss-_ ugh...." Rick pressed his cheek against Stan's shoulder once again when his head started drunkenly swimming and bobbing. Stan flipped up the faucet and held Rick's wrists, guiding his hands under the stream to try and clean out some of the smaller shards in them. His blood was dark against the glinting steel, stretching into rivulets and swirling down the drain like ink.

Rick's face slipped even more, pressing halfway up against Stan's throat. It was only when he felt the warm press of moisture there did he realize that Rick had been crying. Stan stiffened, but didn't do much more than that to acknowledge it. He wasn't one to embarrass someone over that. 

When his palms looked pretty much cleared, Stan grabbed a napkin from the stack he'd stolen from some random pizza place and helped Rick's stumbling fingers to press off the water and dab at all the minor cuts, which left tiny blots of red. None of them appeared deep enough to need to put bandages on, so Stan instead started to lead Rick back to his twin bed pressed up by the window.

"Sleep this off, okay?" Stan grunted, trying not to sound like he cared or anything. That had been Rick's tone with him all damn day, anyway. 

Rick sat down on his bed instead, and looked at the two of his injured palms. More blood seeped slowly out of them.

"I'm the o-only one," He mumbled quietly, dipping his head. "You'ave no idea." 

"There's other geniuses out there, Rick. You're just drunk and being dramatic." Stan stood next to the bed, crossing his arms. "Get to sleep." 

"That's not, whaddim, talking about!" Rick insisted angrily, falling to his side onto his bed so he was in an uncomfortable halfway on position that he could slip off at any second.

"No idea," He repeated softly. "What it's like." 

"Fine Rick, what _are_ you talking about?" Stan asked patiently. Maybe the only way they could get to know each other was when Rick was absolutely, shit-faced drunk.

"Bein' mismatched," Rick spoke softly into his pillow. " _Ffffuckin'_ sucks balls, man." He fisted the sheets and shoved his face into his pillow.

"What do you mean, mismatched?" Stan sat gingerly on top of a box, hoping it wouldn't give way. It seemed like something solid was inside that would hold up against his weight, so he eased onto it. 

"I'm not supposd'a _BE_ here, man." Rick whined, covering his eyes in embarrassment with the inside of his elbow. " _This_...all this..." Rick trailed off, as he often did, waving vaguely before letting his arms fall again with a plop. Stan waited to see if he would say something else. He was too drunk to remember the words coming out of his mouth even as he said them, Stan figured.

"Why?" 

"This universe, plane, parallel, what _ever_." Rick replied. "It's...Its'not...mine, _okay?!_ Fuckin'... _whatever_ , man. Jusss... lemme sleep. I jusss wanna sleep." Rick hugged the pillow to his chest, and he suddenly looked so small and scrawny at that second with his knees tucked in close and his wild dark hair pressed against the pillow. 

Stan stood up off his box with a sigh and went back to the kitchen, and got the rest of the bowl's pieces up into his dustpan with a couple sweeps. He then dug around for some pain pills and filled up a glass of water, all but slamming it on small shelf the three-sided bay window offered.

"If you puke, you're cleaning it up, asshole."

Rick was probably passed out by now, and Stan mumbled grumpily and began undoing the laces to slip off Rick's shoes. 

"Brawny," Rick mumbled softly into his pillow, already drooling on it.

"What?!" Stan hissed back, peeved. Rick didn't even reply, but Stan thought maybe that was something of a 'thank you', or at least his version of one.

As he climbed back into bed, he pressed the invention back into his ear again. He pushed it deep into the canal, and sighed at the creamy silence it offered when he looked up at his ceiling. His emotions twisted into an indecipherable knot. God, he _hated_ his new roommate. He was ruining everything he touched, he made Stan go out of his way to take care of his belligerent ass when he stumbled home drunk, and treated him like shit all day with that stupid smirk on his face and that snarky tone of voice. But then again...

Stan rolled over to his side and shut his eyes. His ear hadn't felt this good since he first started getting paid to fight in not exactly legal rings. But this Rick guy was not his friend, of course not. They would probably never be friends, Rick was just using him over and over again. Using him for his strength, his security, his place. Still, the invention pressed up snug in his ear canal.

 _Do I look like the kind of person who makes things for the benefit of others?_ Rick had thrown his head back laughing.

"Hmm," Stan hummed in contemplation.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's my birthday and I'll get high on alien soft drinks if I want to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for giving me comments everyone :) It really does motivate me to keep writing.

_December, 1981_

Stan saw the rectangular seams on his steel mailbox glowing with a pulsing, magenta light. He rubbed his eye, unamused, and scratched at his growing stubble. After almost two weeks with Rick as his roommate, not much surprised him anymore.

Stan grumbled and stuck his mail key into the lock, and the slot was stuffed to the brim, probably only things for Rick. There was the source of the light: a glass cylinder with a bubbling, magenta mixture, with something like an deformed embryo floating inside it. There was a package wrapped in brown paper and string with postcard taped to the front, with a white and grey feather attached. There was a clear baggie of what Stan guessed was probably just regular Earth weed (but at this point, he'd given up on trying to figure things out). 

Stan reached in and took things out one at a time, tucking them carefully in his arms. There was just one letter addressed to him. He reached in with his free hand, not even realizing that he was trembling until the envelope shook in his hand. He'd know that handwriting anywhere. His mouth hung open slightly, and he had to catch the magenta cylinder that had started slipping from his arms at the last second before it would have smashed to the floor. 

"Ford," Stan whispered.

"He- _urrp_ -ey." Rick was lounging on the couch, his feet kicked up on the armrest. His legs were so skinny, Stan thought. Damn, he needed to make sure the kid ate every once in a while. "What do you think about this  _Star Wars_ crap? Only humans w-w-would assume every alien across the galaxy would fit easily into our three to eight foot range with symmetrical characteristics. Pathetic." 

Rick only looked over when Stan didn't reply, Stan just put his packages on the kitchen counter one by one. Even though Stan hated to admit it, the apartment had improved significantly since Rick had moved in.

Rick had rambled on and on in the beginning about the state of disarray. Fine, maybe there was a couple pieces of dirty laundry lying around here and there, no biggie, and maybe he opened up the oven to dry his pairs of gym socks that he'd wash in the kitchen sink, which was usually piled with crusty dishes, and maybe it was a little hard to tell the original color of the stovetop, and it sort of smelled like maybe a rat had died behind the fridge, but not like it was a big deal. Rick was sort of a neat freak. Rick had snorted a few lines of coke, pulled on elbow-length yellow gloves and got down into it, washing, scrubbing, sweeping. He tried vacuuming with something called a Stan-Vac that almost instantly burst into flame and he decided it was just too shitty to even try and salvage it for parts. 

Even Stan's clothes were folded neatly inside his drawers now. It had been a pretty big shock when he first pulled open the drawer to see all the nice squares of shirts, and he didn't have wrestle with his usual clump of clothes shoved haphazardly inside.

" _What?_ " Stan snapped, when he saw Rick craning his neck to look at him.

"Wow, defensive much?" Rick put down the gadget he was tinkering with and stood up, coming over to the table. He was wearing a crop top and hotpants, he seemed to hate covering up. That and he actually blasted the heater in the winter, unlike Stan who wouldn't turn it on if he could help it and just bundled up.

"Oh, fuck yeah, right on time." Rick snatched up the cylinder, popped open the top like a soda can, and took a noisy slurp. The tiny creature inside let out a squeal, and a few bubbles floated up from its partially formed mouth. Rick didn't seem to notice.

" _Ahh_ , that's the stuff." Rick smacked his lips and rubbed at his stomach.

Stan didn't even seemed phased. Not by the drink, at least. Stan slumped down on the couch with a sigh, holding his cheek with one hand and holding the letter in the other. _Stan_ , it said in his brother's usual, all-caps chicken scratch. Rick plopped down next to him, and outstretched the glowing drink in offering.

"Uhhm... no thanks," Stan put up a hand, trying to hide his disgust.

" _Fine_. Guess you don't know a good thing when you see it," Rick sucked on the drink a little more defensively. The tiny creature inside started throwing a bit of a fit, to which Rick pressed his thumb over the hole and violently shook the can up and down. 

"Who's it from?" Rick curiously peered over his shoulder. "Ehem...not that I care anyway." He cleared his throat into his fist and tried to lower his voice a bit, trying to sound less excited. 

"My brother," Stan replied numbly. "I'll only get these a couple times a year, for our birthday or holidays."

"It's- it's not your birthday _today_ , is it?" Rick scrunched up his eyebrows, eyes flicking from Stan's face to the magenta liquid in his hand. 

"Nah, mine's in the summer." 

"Oh, good." Rick burped very loudly, and tipped back the drink again. " 'Cuz today's my birthday." He said very casually, like he was talking about the weather. 

" _What?!_ Well, why didn't you say anything?" Stan waved his letter around dramatically.

Rick shrugged and propped up his elbow and played lazily with a few of his bracelets, twisting around the jade beads. He seemed entirely disinterested.

"How old are you, then?" Stan poked at his shoulder. He found it weird they didn't know these things about each other: both were the secretive type, it seemed. Both were serial lawbreakers, and that trait must just come with the package. Getting any information at all from either of them was like prying teeth. 

"Twenty-six, now." Rick answered quietly. "You?" 

"Twenty-two." Stan sighed, thumbing the edge of the letter nervously over and over, so that it was already starting to become softened. 

"Not-- _uRRp_ , not _even_." Rick squinted at him, turning to face him and scrutinized Stan, furrowing his eyebrow. Stan wasn't surprised that the thing he was drinking wasn't just for the taste. He seemed a bit sloppier already, his arm motions more droopy. "You're just a _baby_." 

Stan rolled his eyes, but couldn't help but smirk. "C'mon, four years is hardly anything. I'm turning twenty-three in six months, anyway. Wait, today's the fifteenth, right? Six months exactly. So... there." 

"Wow. I almost feel bad for some of the shit I pulled now, you're so _young_." Rick tried very hard to seem genuine.

"Knock it off," Stan grumbled, but the upward twitching of his lips gave him away. He kept gravitating toward the envelope's opening flap, but his fingers would jerk away at the last second, almost like he was afraid of being static shocked. 

"Come _ON_ , man, what are you waiting for? Just _open_ it already. It's not going to bite you. That's more likely to come with something from my mail. Heyyoo!!" Rick draped back on the couch and burped loudly. "Shit. I think I drank this too fast."

"Fine. But no peeking. I mean it." 

"Heeeh, sure, whateeever." Rick pinched his eyes closed, a dopey smile on his lips as his legs fell further apart as his muscles seemed to all relax, and he seemed to melt into the couch as he rested his head on the back. He seemed too spaced out to do much now.

Stan opened the letter, as delicately as his large, calloused fingers could manage. The card stock was nice, Stan thought as he slid it out of the envelope. The front had a few smiling amoebas gathered around a menorah--"Cellabration", it said. Stan almost surprised himself with the laugh that bubbled up from his chest without warning. His tear ducts prickled. He hooked his thumb underneath the flap, braced himself, and flipped it up. 

_Happy holidays, Stanley._

_-F_

Stan checked the back of the card in desperation. Nothing there, either. His heart sunk just as quickly as it had leapt just a moment ago.

 _That's it?_ He sighed and leaned back further into the couch, imitating Rick's position. 

"What's up," Rick mumbled from next to him, clearly flying high already. 

"I just thought he'd write more than this." Stan admitted. "This is the pits." 

"Lemme see that," Rick beckoned with a limp finger. Stan hesitated, but handed it over. 

" _Ha_!" Rick snorted at the pun on the front. "That's dumb." Stan felt a retort rise up, but he held his tongue. Rick lifted the flap.

"Ah. So _this_ is the genius. Mysterious Mr.  _F,_ huh?" Rick slid his eyes to meet Stan's. His pupils were gigantic already. 

Stan pressed his lips together. He knew Rick would see right through him if he lied. "How did you..." 

"This is the oldest trick in the book." Rick pointed to a spot on the card. Stan squinted. There was a moment of confused silence.

Rick groaned impatiently and tapped at the blank spot again.

"...What am I looking at?" Stan asked. 

"You don't see it? Look closer. It's discolored." Rick brought the card closer to Stan's face. "You need glasses, my guy." 

"N-no I don't, shut up." Stan snatched the card back and brought it within a few inches of his face. The edges of his world _were_ getting a bit blurry, but you wouldn't catch him dead being a four-eyes. He could see it, barely, like it was the trick of the light. 

"I can't read it." Stan told Rick, who was extremely mellowed out and splayed out on their ratty old couch with his eyes shut. "How do you read it?" 

" _Uhnn_ ," Rick groaned. "I'm bored with this now. Figure it out yourself." 

"You're a real asshole, Rick." 

"You're not as stupid as you think. Discover your inner...yadda, whatever." Rick waved vaguely. "Don't ruin these hallucinations for me, Brawny. This drink wasn't cheap."  

 Stan rolled his eyes and got up off of the couch, where Rick promptly slumped over where he'd been sitting to take up the entire couch. He watched the ceiling in awe, a bit of drool trickling from the corner of his mouth. 

"Worthless junkie," Stan grumbled, heading over to the bay window in his room and holding the card under the clear, morning light streaming in. He could still just barely see the discoloration. It looked like a series of numbers, or something. He sat on the edge of his bed and squinted at it, until his eyeballs hurt from the pressure. Finally, he placed it face-down on his bedside desk, he'd probably ask Rick about it again when he was less spaced out. 

Stan dug the heels of his palms into his eyes and sighed. He missed his brother so much it ached. Maybe it was great on Rick's side to room with someone used to another genius, but it just made Stan feel the same as always, like he was a bumbling, incompetent idiot, only useful for his brute strength. Why did he seem to draw geniuses out of the woodwork like some kind of magnet?

"Brawny! G-get in here quick! An alien wants t-t-to get at my eyeballs 'n eat 'em, Brawny, just eat 'em whole, we gotta....gott--ughh..." 

As much as Stan hated to admit, Rick did seem to add a bit of excitement into his dull, pick-pocketing, conning, cheapskate life. He heard a loud thump and finally got up to investigate. It was then that Stan had a thought: just a sip. He might as well just have a sip, Rick seemed to enjoy that stuff he'd shelved out big bucks for and waited for in the mail. Hey, he might as well celebrate his birthday with him. 

Rick had his eyes closed yet again when Stan came out to join him. Stan tapped at his knee and Rick wordlessly made room for him on their couch. 

"How're the eyeballs?" Stan asked, full of snark, and sat down to join him. Rick still had a loopy smile on his face, and yet stuck his middle finger up at Stan. Stan just hooked his arm around the back of the couch, working up the courage to ask for a sip.

He figured Rick _had_ offered it- but that was before. Rick was unpredictable, that was one thing that Stan had learned since he'd been living with him. He was like a cat nudging up against you for attention, but when you finally went to give it a pet it would chomp down hard on your hand.

He was oddly secretive, too. Even though Stan had helped toward the beginning to help build Rick's Laboratory, after it reached a certain point he'd shut it down with total secrecy, only working on it late at night or when Stan was away, and never even bringing it up. A rug hid the hatch that led into it, and Stan figured if Rick didn't want to talk about it, then he wouldn't ask. He was still trying to figure out how Rick ticked, but he figured he would get it eventually. Just because Stan seemed to turn people away with his rough exterior and grumpiness, didn't mean he didn't have a profound understanding on how people seemed to work. How else could he have been such a great con artist? 

"Just take a sip already. You're not subtle." Rick passed him the bubbling drink with an unsteady, sloppy hand. "Happy fuckin' birthday to me, right?"

A bit of it spilled onto the couch, and immediately evaporated into neon pink steam. As Stan tipped back a sip and tried to ignore the tiny creature inside, he felt like maybe he and Rick understood one another more than he thought they would. Rick drunkenly slugged him on the shoulder.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick always hated tests.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Content warning for suicidal thoughts/attempts.)  
> 

Stan came to very slowly, and right when he was conscious again he immediately wished he wasn't. A hundred hangovers all in one squeezed his head together like he was wearing a blood pressure cuff as a headband, and it just kept inflating without stopping.

He ventured to crack open an eye. Thank God it was dark in here, or he might have screamed. A faint green glow was the only thing illuminating the room, which Stan was pretty sure he'd never been in before. 

"W- _Well_ , well, look who decided to finally join the real world again." Rick's disembodied voice came from somewhere in the room.

Stan let out a grunt and squeezed shut both eyes again. 

"Where are we...?" He croaked, then clutched at his stomach and curled into a little ball as sickly yellow nausea passed over him in a wave. He groaned, wishing he had more arms so he could hold his pulsing head, too. 

"Do I always have to spell it out for you, Br-Brawny? My _Lab_." Rick replied, seemingly not even the least bit hungover. "It's too bright upstairs, even with the curtains closed."

Stan ventured to squint once again and saw Rick leaning over some weird chemistry set that Stan couldn't recognize any of the glass bottle shapes, he thought maybe _beaker_ or _flask_ but that was really the extent of his knowledge. It looked pretty cool, there was a coiled up tube and open flame and everything. Bright blue, window-cleaner-colored liquid bubbled as Rick heated it over the flame, and Rick was both watching that and some kind of slow dripping thing at the same time. _Titration...?_  No, even simple thinking hurt right now. Stan gave up. He had bits and pieces of vocabulary Ford loved to spew floating around in his brain, but most of the time he was wrong, and even if he was right it was hollow knowledge anyway.

"Why do I feel like someone chewed me up and shit me out," Stan groaned, pressing a big palm down on the cold floor and trying to sit up off the hard ground. _Wrong move_ , his body told him a bit too late. Stan curled over and puked, getting a bit of it down the front of his shirt. The sharp smell made him gag even more, but there was barely enough in his stomach. Stan swiped the back of his hand across his mouth.

" _Son of a bitch_ ," His voice quivered. "I'm such an idiot."  

"Damn, kid." Rick held one of the glass bottles in his hand by its neck and swished its contents around in circles, as he switched between looking at Stan and looking at the experiment. "I guess I forgot how much my liver's been through. Kinda .... _uhhh_....failed to adjust for ya, there." 

"Whatever. How long 'till I shake this hangover?" Stan ran a hand down his clammy face. He didn't even want to think about the crazy-ass hallucinations he'd experienced that felt like they'd gone on for days, when he knew it must have been hours. That was a can of worms he'd rather not open right now, maybe ever. 

"Four minutes, if you'd just let me _concentrate_." Rick's voice alone told Stan he was rolling the hell out of his eyes. "W-W-What am I, a miracle worker? Everyone wants everything right away, that's how it is, isn't it? Instantly? Things take time, time.. takes... _things_....no, no, y'know what, that was a shitty chiasmus, let's just f-forget I even made that one..."

Stan decided that even though both his stomach and his head screamed for attention, he used his hands to stick his fingers in his ears instead. 

When he finally peeked his eyes open, Rick was standing over him, biting the inside of his lip so it jutted out and curved downward slightly. "One hangover cure, comin' riiiight up." 

Stan, with great effort, finally strained to sit up again. He looked up at Rick, his eyelids drooping exhaustedly over his eyes, his mouth in a taut, grumpy frown.

"This isn't going to get me addicted to _this_  stuff forever or something, is it?" Stan asked wearily. His brain had to work overtime with Rick, trying to pick apart who he was and why he did certain things he did. Other people were much easier, but mapping out Rick felt like something Stan would never fully be able to do.

"Y'know, _one_ of us is going to give in and say "thank you" one day." Rick snipped back, and extended him the flask. Stan curled his fingers around it, the liquid was slightly warm from when it had been heated. It was that one, middle-heat, car-water-bottle or old-tea temperature that never tasted good going down the hatch.

"Over my dead body, bucko." Stan grumbled, wasn't going to give Rick the satisfaction of seeing him hesitate, and tipped the solution back quickly like he was downing a shot. His throat spasmed before he'd even swallowed it all because of how disgusting it tasted, but he managed to override his gag reflex, sputtering once his airway was clear and hacking up coughs. 

"What did you want me to do, add sugar?" Rick retorted to the dramatics, spinning around to tidy his chemistry set, speaking over Stan's bellowing coughs. 

"F-fuck-k-k you, man." Stan was going a bit pink in the face from the lack of oxygen. He tried hard to swallow the last few coughs down and cleared his throat a few times.

Rick looked extremely smug, eyes shining with 'I told you so'. He crossed his arms over his sunken chest, and raised an eyebrow. "Well?" 

"Fine." Stan grunted, climbing to his feet much easier now that he wasn't so queasy. "The stuff works. Now, where's the way out. I don't want to break anything while I'm down here." 

Now that Stan could actually concentrate on more than his body plotting revenge on him for drinking that suspicious embryo-soda, he could have a look around. The Lab was right around the side of the living room upstairs, if not a few feet larger. Each corner of the room was cut out at sharp right angles even though it was just made of very hard packed dark clay and soil, which told Stan that Rick must have relied on some kind of machine to cut it out for him.

It wasn't organized like Stan had thought a mad scientists' Lab would have to be, with dangerous contraptions everywhere. It seemed well organized, just like Rick had done to the rest of their apartment, with shelves with surprisingly innocent cardboard boxes were set up along the span of one wall. The boxes had scribbled on labels, like "Freezy stuff", "Plasma-whatever" or, just, "Alien Dildos". 

"Please tell me that's some kind of joke," Stan pointed at the box, holding back his laughter. Rick grumbled and pushed him with a hand on the middle of his back a bit faster out of his Lab, toward the steps leading out. 

"You cure a guy's crippling hangover and he makes fun of you for trying to add a bit of spice into his life, huh, is that the way it is?? Li'l...--urp--- li'l ungrateful shit." 

It was almost surreal for Stan to step up out of this Lab into the living room of his own tiny and bright apartment. Since he hadn't thought much about it since digging up that pit a while ago, it was almost like he'd forgotten it existed. Rick closed the hatch behind him and dragged the rug back over it. 

"Wow, Rick, that stuff really... I feel _great_." Stan leaned up against the counter, not even forcing down his big smile. "No headache, no nadda. You could make _millions_ with something like that!" 

"Nah," Rick shrugged, flopping down across the length of the couch and sucking on his silver flask. 

"No, that you wouldn't make that much? Or, what?" 

"No, I don't _want to_." Rick waved the comment away and crossed his ankles on the armrest. "Y'know, Brawns, you gotta...sometimes you gotta think that life's more than the money, y'know?"

Stan clutched at his chest like he'd been shot. "Not about the _money?_ Everything's about money, Rick!" He patted at the square shape in his pocket. "Don't listen to him, Wallety, he didn't mean it." 

"Look, I could spend my life slaving away on hangover relief, or I could... just...  _not_ do that. Bigger fish to fry... teach a man to fish... and he'll fry the bigger fish... plenty of... fish in the sea or something. I don't know. What I am, the wise words expert?" Rick threw his arms out in an exaggerated shrug, some alcohol spilling out of his flask at the motion. "I'd just rather have it be me 'n the music, man." 

Stan shrugged, then dug around in the fridge for a soda. 

"No headache, huh?" Rick asked again after a beat. 

"Nope. Why?" Stan popped off the cap of his glass Pepsi and took a swig. _Please don't be bad news, please don't..._

" 'Cuz my band's coming over to practice today." Rick continued to suck at his flask, a smile quirking up the corners of his lips. "We get loud." 

"I'll go out for a bit then." Stan replied. "There's still a few pool places I haven't hit yet. I'll probably be back late."

"Cool," Rick replied, finally tucking his flask away and putting his hands behind his head, relaxing into the couch. Stan couldn't quite place it, but for some reason, there was just one fleeting moment where he thought he saw Rick's expression going sour.

 _The guy probably has a lot on his mind_ , he figured. _It's none of my business, anyway_.

*   *   *

The front door was unlocked, and hanging slightly ajar when Stan stumbled home after his bar scuffle at around midnight. _Weird_ , Stan thought. Rick was usually pretty good about locking the door. If anything, he didn't want anyone to be able to discover his Lab. Stan pushed the door open fully with his shoulder and stumbled back inside, cussing under his breath. His eye hurt like hell, and if he didn't get some ice on it soon it would definitely swell. He already knew he'd be sporting an impressive shiner tomorrow. 

"Hey, Rick." Stan called out, opening up the freezer to look for a bag of something, and the dim freezer lightbulb shed a bit of light into the tiny kitchen. He thought he remembered having some peas in here or something. He fished around for a second, finally grabbing some frozen corn and with a sigh of relief pressed it to his pulsing face.

"Rick? You here?" 

Something wasn't right, Stan thought for some reason, but couldn't really place why. Even though Rick was seemingly completely unpredictable, Stan just felt on edge all of the sudden. Something very un-Rick was going on. 

The only light source in the room was coming from the bay window right next to Rick's bed, where Stan could make out his shape. But he wasn't under the covers: he had all of his clothes on, and his shoes, and there was something in his hand where his arm dangled off the side of the bed. Something told Stan this wasn't just an instance of him passing out drunk, so he put the frozen corn on the counter and ventured closer.

There was a single syringe, just out of Rick's own reach, sitting right in the middle of the bedside desk that had been cleared of everything else. He might as well have shone a spotlight on it.

" _Rick_ ," Stan tried once again, saying his name through gritted teeth. "Wake up."

Stan swiftly kneeled by the bed, and shoved at Rick's shoulder. Listlessly, his body rolled to be on his back and an empty syringe slipped from his limp hand and clattered to the floor. There was a large spot of moisture wicking into and darkening the sheets next to his head, drool and spit and foam.

Stan felt his heart skip a beat and began to panic, and took Rick's face within his hands. Rick's skin was cold like wax, his mouth hung open, and all the muscles in his face were slack. Stan bit down hard on his teeth and jammed two fingers below his jaw to desperately feel for a pulse. It was much too light as it beat on below his fingertips, soft like a butterfly kiss. 

Stan didn't even have to think consciously for this one. He grabbed the needle that was placed so strategically in the middle of a cleared desk, full of whatever it was, and whatever happened next was so fast he could barely register what was going on. He pinned down Rick's arm onto the mattress and jammed the syringe into the meatiest part of his bicep he could find and lowered the plunger.

Rick sucked in a gasp so loudly that it made Stan jump in his skin. Rick's arms splayed out and he twisted the sheets in his grip, gulping in breaths with his eyes squeezed shut.

" _Fuck_....f-f-fuuck..." Rick sputtered, damn near hyperventilating as he tried to regulate his breathing once again. Rick hadn't even noticed that he was holding one of his arms in a bone-crushing grip.

"Rick," Stan demanded through gritted teeth. Rick's eyes remained shut, and he turned his head to the side, shame pinching his eyebrows together so they formed a little wrinkle in the small spot where they hadn't yet joined. He was still breathing heavily, his chest heaving in and out. 

" _Rick_ ," Stan placed his other hand on his scrawny shoulder. "What. The _hell_. Was that." 

"It--uh..." Rick began, weary and still catching his breath, and Stan already knew a goddamn lie when he saw one. "...Allergic reaction...to...." He struggled to speak, his eyes still closed and his dark hair crazy messy where it pressed to his white pillowcase.

"Stop," Stan squeezed his shoulder firmly. "Stop it, okay? I don't want you to lie to me, not with this one. Sit up," Stan slipped his hands over his sharp shoulder blades and pulled him so that he was sitting upright. Rick avoided his eyes, like a guilty little kid. His body was extremely weak from whatever was in that syringe, and Stan had to hold up most of his body weight.

"You O.D.'d." Stan began slowly, annunciating each word very clearly. Rick said nothing, he barely even moved, and Stan kept holding both of his shoulders up. "You _always_ know your limits! Was this...?" Stan cleared his throat. Suddenly, all of this made sense, what he'd known the second he saw the syringe on a clear table just inches out of Rick's reach. He knew the whole time it hadn't been an accident, Rick had made it very obvious, at least to Stan. "This was on purpose, huh?" 

Rick's head drooped even more, his chin falling to his chest. 

"God, this was some kind of...  _test_ , wasn't it?" Stan's stomach was in a knot, he was still riding on the adrenaline. "Fuck, Rick! You bet your life on me getting here in time? You put that stupid shot just out of reach from yourself in case you changed your mind? What the hell are you playing at here, pal? You could have _died_." 

Without a word, Rick fell forward into Stan's chest, his body jumping with sobs. His hands twisted into the fabric of Stan's shirt, and he buried his face away in Stan's sternum. 

"Rick, I'm sorry." Stan hugged him gently, his hands splayed along his back. He could feel his ribs so easily, he count them if he wanted to. "I didn't mean to get angry with you, man, but you scared the _shit_ out of me." 

Rick said nothing, just clung close to Stan, his chest jumping with silent sobs. Stan waited patiently. 

"I'm not leaving until you tell me what is going on here." Stan's voice rumbled on quietly, trying to sound a bit more sympathetic.

"I'm mismatched." Rick spoke into Stan's shirt. "It happened three months ago. My old universe, plane, dimension... shot to shit, man. I had to bail. I ruined it, ruined everyone. E-Everyone I've ever known. I'm the only one from that dimension who got out. The people here are nearly the exact same, but... they're _not_ the same, Stan."

"You didn't know me in your old universe, did you?" Stan offered patiently. Rick shook his head silently. 

"So, I'm not a same-but-different version as an old friend of yours. I'm the original _me_ and I don't know any other _you_ but this you." Stan was suddenly dubious. "It...  _has_ been the same you all along, right?" 

"It was a test." Rick whispered. "I just wanted to have a good day first, splurge and drink my favorite soda, get high, hang out and have a jam session with the boys. I hate my birthday, Stan. But I shouldn't have done that to you. I let there be two options. Either I die, and that would be it. Or there was an option for someone else to help me, but I made it impossible to help myself. Because it didn't _matter_. I just figured... either outcome... would be the outcome." Rick shrugged. "That's all there was to it." He tacked on meekly.

"I...." Stan was speechless. Rick was so reckless, he didn't care whether or not he lived or died. "I don't want you to die, Rick." 

"Why not," Rick snapped. "Human interaction doesn't work for people like me. Humans _hate_ me. Every last one, they always do. Do you know what it's like, Stanley?! I'll never fit in, I drink all the time just so I can dull myself, my mind, down, I can't _stand_ being sober, because as a genius I fu-fucking hate that no one else can see what I see, no one can ever understand what's going on in my head."

As if on cue, Rick gripped his head in his hands. "You feel like a crazy person, man. I just want less time with my fucking _mind._ It's so smart it hurts. It-It feels like I'm not even a part of my own _species_. I'm trying so hard... I don't want to be one of _those_ geniuses,I--  _fuck_." Rick cradled his cheeks dejectedly, then pushed his fingers through his messy hair and clasped them at the back of his neck, bowing his head. A tear dribbled down his face and dangled at the tip of his nose for a moment before falling. "I don't know why I did that, Stan. I'm...I'm sorry, okay?" 

Stan said nothing, just let him talk, a hand still on his back. 

"You sober right now, Rick?" Stan asked after a beat of silence. Rick nodded, still not looking at him with his fingers laced together behind his neck and his scrawny, bony elbows jutting out.

He laughed, but it was sour. "U-Unbelieveable, right? First time I have been, around you. I guess I wanted to sober up before I made the decision, y'know? But it...it kinda m-made me want to just do it more." Rick covered his face with his hands. " _Ffffuck_." He said again, rubbing his running eyes. "If you didn't...."

"Well, I did." Stan interrupted him. "I got here in time, okay? Let's get you something to drink, then." 

" _Thankyouu,_ " Rick said on exhale, the words sounding so relieved, and he laid back in his bed and hid his face in the crook of his elbow. "Y-Y-You're not one of those people who will try to guilt me into quitting, are you?" 

"You know me better than that," Stan grumbled back, coming back with a shot glass and a bottle of vodka in one hand while he pressed the frozen corn to his face with his other hand. He put the alcohol and shotglass on the tabletop that had had that life-saving syringe on it previously.

" _Greaaat,_ " Rick mumbled before tossing back a shot quickly, throwing his head back and swallowing in one gulp. He put the empty glass back on the table with a clink, and Stan refilled it for him without a beat. He threw the shot back and slammed the glass back on the table so swiftly, going from pouring to drinking in close to three seconds. "I can grow myself another liver whenever I want and transplant it, y'know. I'm not worried." 

"I'd believe it," Stan replied, and pulled up the chair from the work desk and sat backwards on it, resting one arm to fold on the backrest and he pressed the frozen bag firmly to his face with his other hand. In the adrenaline rush, the pain had disappeared for a while there. Rick pounded back the shot almost the second Stan had poured it. 

"W-What happened to you _\--urp--_ tonight, Brawns?" Rick asked, pointing to his eye, smacking his lips to try and get rid of the flavor, yet he was already pouring himself another. Stan could practically see the switch going off in his head: the shot glass thing was just wasting time. He tossed back the small amount he'd poured with his left, and just stuck the top of the bottle directly into his mouth with his right hand at the same time.

"Rough night, I guess." Stan shrugged. "A guy who didn't like losing to me." 

"Damn right--" Rick burped, tipping back the bottle so that bubbles glugged along the neck. "--Rough night." 

"Yeah," Stan grumbled, starting to stand up. "I think I'm gonna hit the hay, try and sleep this pain off. " 

"Wait! I mean..." Rick's nervous fingers drummed on the countertop. "I... don't want to be alone out here. Just- not tonight." 

"Say, I have an idea," Stan offered up a small smile, even though the crinkling of his face hurt his eye. "If you help me figure out my brother's invisible words on his cards, I'll spend some time doing that tonight. Right here at this desk. Deal?" 

Rick shot him a sloppy smile. "Nice one. Yeah. We _\--urp--_ we'll-we can do that."

Rick found a black light very easily somewhere down in his Lab, which Stan for the first time also learned he opened by inputting a certain code on the fridge's thermostat. Stan's eyes had grown wide as suddenly, every card he'd kept from his brother had lit up clear as day with rows and charts of numbers, glowing bright neon blue against the dim violet paper.

"Ciphers, huh?" Rick rolled his eyes. "I always hated these stupid things." He pinched the nozzle of his flask between his teeth and tipped it back. "Hey, Stan-- remind me to _never_ get sober again." 

"I don't even know where to start with this," Stan admitted, feeling like he'd only just discovered there was something more to the letters, and already was hitting a wall. "Damn." 

"Copy it down so we don't have to squint in that dumb light. I'll take a look at it later." Rick waved his hand around. 

"Really?" Stan asked, overexcited, gripping onto Ford's card so hard he crinkled it a little. "Rick... that would be fuckin' _great_." 

"Sure. Write it all down, jus'.....get it all down," Rick burped and curled up in bed, drunk as a skunk, and Stan had pushed the desk so that it would be perpendicular to Rick's bed, so that Rick was right by his side as he sat in his desk chair and crouched over, meticulously writing down each number that appeared.

It had been close to twenty minutes, and Rick still wasn't asleep, he was staring off into space through his eyelashes, laying there quietly in the low light of Stan's lamp.

Stan put a gentle hand on Rick's boney shoulder that was jutting out as he lay on his slide. 

"You went through a lot tonight, Rick. _Relax_. I'll just stay at this desk until you're asleep, and maybe for a few hours after that." Stan took his hand away, and Rick's brown eyes wearily slid to meet his. Stan remembered it was something about his eyes when he first met him that he could tell he was a genius: the combination of that bright intelligence, and how they were sunken because of the burden of that intelligence. "Try and sleep, okay?" 

"How did you know?" Rick asked quietly, smushing his cheek onto the pillow beneath him. "Th-that I needed help? It looked like I'd just passed out again. Y-You could've... just..."

"-Okay, but I _didn't_." Stan tried to say more firmly this time, he realized he was practically strangling the pencil in his grip. "I've always gotta be guard for you. You're one crazy son of a bitch, but I'm fine with that. Looking out for you, I mean. That's what friends are for." He cleared his throat. He wasn't sure he was going to say that much-- he wasn't really one for pouring his heart out, he'd usually be a lot gruffer than this.

" _Don't_ do this shit again." There, that sounded better.

Rick just hummed in response, and rustled around a bit so that his back was to Stan instead. His brown hair was messy and sticking up every which way, and his sharp shoulder blades pressed up against the white undershirt he was wearing and stretched the fabric in between them. Stan reached over and put a hand on his back for a brief second, wordlessly, then took it away.

"Crazy bastard," He whispered gently, debatably affectionate, and shook his head. "Get some sleep." 

As his pencil scribbled on and the only sound in the room came from the sound of him flipping a page in a notebook every so often, he could tell when Rick had dozed off by his even breathing. Stan looked up occasionally, just to check in. The low light from his lamp spilled over onto Rick, and as his chest rose and fell lightly and he remained very still. Stan was just relieved to see him breathing. He shut off the lamp and went to bed in his own room, but before he left pulled Rick's blanket up just a little bit further, and pawed him slightly upside the head for being so damn stupid. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Birdperson swears on his unhatched eggs that hiveminds are fun in bed.

" _Damn_ , it's cold." Stan grumbled unhappily, shoving his calloused hands further into his hoodie pocket. It was in the dead of December, and the air was biting now, and there wasn't much that Stan hated more than being cold. "Come on, Rick. Where the hell are we even going?" Stan sucked in from his cigarette and blew out smoke out through his nostrils, creating twin plumes that flowed out and were quickly carried away by the wind. 

"Don't get your li'l f-flowery pink panties in a wad, Brawns." Rick pushed on down the street, squinting at addresses in the fading dusk light. He kept a cigarette behind one ear, and tucked into the other was a small white flower he'd plucked on their walk over. The light was thin and orange, casting shadows to stripe over the sidewalk as they walked down a seedy residential neighborhood. "Squanchy told me there was going to be a party around here." 

"One of your band members, huh?" Stan prompted, taking the cig between two fingers and sucking in until the end crackled red, and he kicked a rock that skittered off the curb and into the street. "I swear to God, Rick, if we don't find this place in the next thirty minutes I'm bailing."

Stan cleared his throat after a second. "...And this shiner is embarrassing." He tacked on in a mumble, flipping up his hood to encompass his face. He realized he went even heavier on the smoking when he was trying to distract from something else about his appearance, like the purple and yellow swoop on the edge of his eye socket and his pinched-shut eyelid. He really hated having a messed up face. 

"Don't worry about it," Rick slowed down finally, so the two of them could fall into step together. "So, look Stan,  _uhhh_ , this party....might not be all humans. Actually... maybe just me 'n you." 

"RICK!" Stan stopped his his tracks, firmly planting his feet and taking his hands out of his pockets so they could ball at his sides. His eyebrows drew down over his eyes, and Rick just lifted up his arms in a dramatic shrug.

" _What?!_ "

"You can't just do these things to me with no warning!" Stan crossed his arms over his chest with an irritated huff. "I haven't met any of these 'aliens' yet, and apparently, the only time I did, I _drank_ its _secretions_!!" _God, I sound just like my brother_ , Stan thought and he tried to push that thought away as quickly as it had come. 

"That s-soda is _very_ popular on its home planet, okay, I wouldn't offer you garbage! I-I got it as a birthday gift to myself, okay, just--" Rick tugged impatiently on Stan's sleeve, by his elbow. He furrowed his brow and pouted, trying to urge him to keep following him. "C-C'mon, lets get inside before the sun sets, because then it will get _really_ cold. Fuckin' W-wimp." 

"You didn't tell me it was an alien until  _after_ I drank it!" Stan still kept his arms fully crossed over his chest as he reluctantly trailed after Rick. "It's not easy to hear about these things, okay? It's still... sinking in, so _no_ , I don't really want to go to a party with a ton of aliens!" 

"Re-lax. Don't even trip, dawg." Rick slugged him on the shoulder with a dumb smug smile on his face. "Aliens are cool, they're nicer than most humans. You'll be fine." 

Stan was not fine, he was pretty much terrified. "You'd better not leave me by myself with those things. I _mean_ it, Rick." 

"Geez, no reason to be speciest." Rick rolled his eyes. "I think I see the place. Hu _\--urp--_ -rry up." 

Stan could hear the bumping vibrations from some kind of bass guitar even from out here, as they stood outside of the house by the walkway getting ready to go inside. Stan gave Rick a _look_ , pressing his lips together and squinting his eyes, but Rick elected to ignore it. "You can either come with me or wait out here, where it's just gonna get colder." Rick taunted.

Stan puffed out his last bit of smoke and threw his cigarette down to the sidewalk, an unspoken _fine, but I'm only doing this because there's no other option here,_ and ground it out with the heel of his ratty red high-top Chucks. He followed Rick up the walkway, past the door and through the crowded house right at his elbow. 

The chatter was nothing like Stan had ever heard before. It wasn't just dozens of languages, but so many of them were spoken without lips and sounded burbly, or high-pitched ringing, or when he passed two stalk-like creatures with no mouths he accidentally caught a snippet of their seemingly psychic conversation before he was out of range once again. Of course he'd never heard a different voice originating from inside his head rather than his own, needless to say it was off-putting.  _Weird_ , he thought and dug his pinky finger into his bad ear.  

"Let's get some brewskis!!" Rick slug his arm over Stan's shoulder, and sucked on his flask with his other hand. "Rick's in the house, bee-yotch!!" 

Stan was actually surprised that the aliens cheered when they heard him. Rick reached into an ice bucket and got two beers, keeping one and handing one off to Stan, who started to sip on it immediately. He felt so trapped in here: there was no escape, he just needed to stick with Rick and hope that he wouldn't get eaten or something.

"Rick! Glad you could make it!" Some chubby-looking yellow guy that was probably about a foot tall said as he sat on the table, he then picked up the punchbowl and began to chug it. Stan could see his body physically getting fatter as he drank, and decided to look at the nest of hair at the back of Rick's head instead. 

"Same for you, Felix!" Rick beamed, shooting a pair of finger guns, taking a sip of his own beer, and looking over at the corner of the room where three other human beings seemed to be standing. Stan trailed close by Rick, slowly trying to take in the whole room with his mouth hanging open slightly. All these creatures were out of his wildest imaginations: like Star Wars on LSD. They were all kinds of heights, textures, they were see-through, gasses, liquids, thousands of eyes or none, fat and taking up a whole corner of the room, or thin like pipe fish. Some floated around, some danced on the ceiling, or slithered near his feet. 

"It's not polite to stare," A shiny silvery creature with a lot of lumps and thousands of eyes frowned at Stan, and he speechlessly poked at Rick for backup. 

"What?" Rick turned around, burping. His eyes narrowed. "Ohh, hiiii _Patricia_." He spat.

"Who's this person with you?" The alien demanded.

"This is my roommate," Rick touched Stan's arm briefly, as if to reassure him. 

"Well, he's being rude. I'm here to _party_ , not be stared at." She huffed. "Teach him some manners or put him on a leash." 

"That doesn't even _\--urp--_ make sense." Rick retorted, waving the comment away. "And aren't you stared at, like, a thousand times every time you look in a mirror? Go mind your own business, ugly-ass lump of eyes." He couldn't care less about her reaction, as he was drinking from his flask once again, and she turned away and let out loud sobs. 

"Damn, Rick. I don't want to get us into trouble, here." Stan trained his eyes on his shoes instead. "She seemed really upset." 

Rick started laughing, slinging his arm around Stan's shoulders once again. "Awww, shit. Sorry, man. That's me and her thing, I forgot to tell you. She loves crying. It moisturizes her skin, and she knows I'll get her to do it fast. It's her custom. If someone can get you to cry real fast, you're a great friend. See?" 

Patricia's thousands of eyes were all streaming down her body, coating it in whatever was silvery substance was coming out of her eyes. "Rick's the best!" She sobbed freely. "I'm buying him a shot! Rick's next shot is on me!" She wailed. 

"Love you, Pat!" Rick slugged lightly at her, careful to avoid an eye, and Stan was utterly bewildered but followed Rick anyway to get his free shot behind the makeshift bar. 

"That was really weird, Rick, no offense." Stan leaned closer toward his ear as he pounded back a shot and was met by cheers. "Give a guy a little warning next time?" 

"Y-Y-Yeah, sure, whatever." Rick mumbled, and seemed to look over at a part of the room for the tenth time. It didn't go unnoticed by Stan, who had seen him eyeing some twin girls who appeared human in the corner of the room since they got there. 

"You're really bad at being discrete, you know that, right?" Stan gently bullied Rick, having to duck in close to speak to his ear over the blaring music. "You've been checking out those ginger twins in the corner for a while now." 

Rick met Stan's eyes, furrowing his unibrow. "Shit. I'm really that obvious?" 

"Well, pick one and go talk to her." Stan smirked. "I'll be your wingman, if you want. Actually, I take that back. I'm coming with you, 'cuz there's no way in hell you're ditching me at this party." 

"Look, Stan, remember when I said that we would probably be the only humans at this party?" Rick ducked closer to Stan's ear to ask.

Stan smirked. "Yeah, guess you were wrong, huh?" 

" _No_ ," Rick snipped back. "I'm almost never wrong. That's not just a identical twins and a dude. People have been telling me it's a _hivemind_." 

"Oh. Better stay right here, then." Stan was guessing that wasn't the right reaction. Rick gave him a cold look, rolling his neck and quirking up a bit of his eyebrow in a dramatic ' _Really_?!' "What did I tell you about being speciest? Anyway, I've never met a hivemind before, so I want to go talk to it. Birdperson dated one before, he swears on his unhatched eggs that it was the best sex he's ever had. Let's go, c'mon, before it leaves with someone else." 

"But _Rick_ ," Stan nervously flicked his eyes over to the cluster of three gingers. He was starting to feel more and more like the odd one out, like Rick might not even be on his side for this one. "Does that mean that alien is... _inside_ those other people? If they're being possessed against their will...isn't that a little...you know...." Stan swept his tongue over his lips nervously. "Uh, barbaric?" 

"Don't be so _close-minded, Stanley_!" Rick scolded under his breath. "These aliens think a ton of things we do are disgusting, too, you know. Like eating. You ever think about that, _Stan?_ The way we get energy from the sun is so inefficient, that we rely on consuming other species on our planet that have done all that photosynthesis work for us. Sometimes it's even twice removed: we _kill_ and _eat_ another animal that _killed_ and _ate_  the first plant to steal that sweet, sweet sun energy. And we do this three times a _day_ , Stan. And if we don't, we're so pathetic that we'll _die_. All the autotrophs, which is _most_ of the universe, think we're disgusting. That hivemind over there isn't doing anything even close to as barbaric as that, Stan. It'll let those people go back to their life once its done with them. Got it?" 

Stan put up his palms defensively. "Fine, man, whatever. I'm just not comfortable with the idea of all those people being puppets, is all I'm saying." 

"We'll talk later about this," Rick said to his under his breath. "Now. Go time." 

Rick slipped a little baggie of white powder from his sleeve and tapped a small mound out onto his hand, into the snuffbox just below his thumb. Rick snorted the cocaine down with a loud sniff, and dragged his hand across his nose.

"It's fucking _go time!_ " Rick whooped to Stan, shaking his shoulders, then he spun around on his heels and he started making his way toward that side of the room, arms and legs pumping with confidence. Stan huffed and reluctantly trailed behind Rick, keeping a bit of Rick's sleeve pinched between his fingers just so he wouldn't get lost in this crazy mess. 

"Heyyy there," Rick cheesily leaned up against the wall and propped up his knee. Stan just stared down the bottle of his beer for a second and chugged it down as fast as he could, trying to avoid eye contact with Rick and the cluster of redheads next to him. When he polished off the drink, he fiddled with the label nervously. 

"Hi," The ginger guy replied, but all of them had the same bashful smile on their faces with their eyes all trained on Rick's face. "You're Rick?" 

"Yup! You _\--urp--_ you know Squanchy, then, huh?" Rick sipped on his beer cooly, but Stan knew it was just for show, there was no way he could even be the least bit phased what was probably like watered down piss to him. 

"Not too well. I came to one of your shows, and he invited me. I... I'm new here." One of the identical twin girls spoke this time, she had a face spattered with orangey freckles and she had a pretty cute widow's peak, not bangs like her sister. All three of them extended hands, and the girl blushed and ducked in embarrassment. Two of them put their hands down, and continued to move just their eyes wherever she moved hers. "Sorry. Humans are bit trickier than what I'm used to. So many _limbs_ to manage, you know?" She laughed nervously.

"Y-Y-You're sooo right! _Hahaha_!" Rick's returning laughter was so forced and grating that Stan had to visor his eyes with his palm. " _Lord help us all,_ " He mumbled and tipped back the very last of foam and backwash from his glass bottle. 

"I'm Unity." She finally shook Rick's hand. "Nice to meet you, Rick. We've heard some great things about you." 

"So, _\--uuurp---_ can I ask about the ginger thing?" Rick gestured vaguely to the group of three. 

"It's nothing, really. We just think it's cool looking," Unity said softly, using the male to talk that time. He scrubbed at the back of his neck nervously, shooting Rick a toothy smile. "What do you think?" 

"Y'know, I think me and you are gonna get along _real_ well," Rick purred and smirked, leaning in a bit closer. 

"I'm getting another drink," Stan told Rick as he poked at the small of his back and then ducked away. Hell, if he got eaten by some hungry alien it would still be better than seeing this train wreck play out. 

He fished one out of the ice bucket, and accidentally brushed his hand with some kind of other creature reaching their slimy tentacle for a beer at the same time. "Oh, uh, sorry." Stan grumbled, resisting the urge to gag at the snail-like snotty trail left on the back of his hand. "Uh.."

Stan wasn't quite sure how the slimy purple and green blob saw since it didn't appear to have eyes, but one of its tentacles reached across the table by the stacked red cups and handed him a napkin. "Hey, thanks." Stan took it and began to clean off his hands and the beer. The creature made a burbling sound and moved away. Stan was starting to think maybe Rick had been right about these guys not being too bad. 

Stan stole a look at Rick from across the room once again, he was smiling and using his hands a lot as he was talking, it looked like the two of them (or... _four?_ ) of them were really hitting it off. Stan opened up his beer on the edge of the table and began to make his way over to Rick once again, when some very tall guy with red skin and a huge underbite with canines that pointed up instead of down approached Rick, grabbed his arm, and started to tug him away. 

"Shit," Stan hustled, elbowing his way across the room to get back to Rick. 

"...don't let me catch you bothering it again." The alien's voice was just as low and growly as his appearance would have made it seem. "It's not interested in monominds at all, much less a damn _human being._ Get out of here, energy-waster."

 "What's going on here, Rick?" Stan deadpanned, staring down the red guy with a blank expression. Stan felt like nothing compared to this guy. He was very buff, with muscles like small boulders, and he had _spikes_ running down the length of his spine. 

"Nothing." Rick looked pissed off and crestfallen, his eyelids fallen further down his usually wide and expressive eyes. "Let's go see if we can find my friends Squanchy or Birdperson now." 

Once that red guy had moved on, Stan leaned in close to Rick's ear. "What the hell was that?" 

"Some asshole," Rick replied, biting down on his teeth. "W-Whatever. It doesn't matter. We can get out of here soon anyway." 

Stan gave Rick a look that he hoped got his point across, and followed him through the crowded house anyway, trying hard not to step on any tails or bump into any sticky creatures on their search.

"Hello, Rick." A monotone voice called over the clatter, and Rick spun around. 

"I knew you'd be around here somewhere!" Rick captured the person who'd spoken; some humanoid, feathery guy, into a chokehold and he aggressively noogied his head, ruffling up his grey-and-white feathers. Stan knew he recognized him, from when he'd been passed out on the floor when Rick had forcibly moved himself into the apartment, and he'd seen a similar feather on a package in the mail. 

Rick clapped a hand on the alien's back, and turned toward Stan. "Meet my bandmate, Birdperson." Rick grinned, throwing his arm over his shoulder. "He plays a _mean_ baseline." 

"Thank you, Rick." The bird-human mix deadpanned, and then slid his eyes to look at Stan, who felt a little hot under the collar at the intensity of his gaze.

"Hi. Stanley." Stan stood there awkwardly, looking at Birdperson's neutral facial expression that seemed to stare directly into his soul. "I should...uh....listen to you guys play sometime." 

"I think Rick would appreciate that very much." Birdperson replied. "I will see you two around. If you will excuse me, I'm looking to get more alcoholic drinks." And with that, he was off. 

"Did you _see_ that?" Rick was almost in tears from holding back his laughter. "Man, Birdperson was _smashed_." 

"Uh...I don't know, man. He seemed pretty sober to me." Stan furrowed his brow. It really didn't seem like Rick was joking.

He reached out and took his wrist before Rick could move on yet again, and leaned in closer to his ear. "Rick, seriously, what was up with that red guy? You and Unity seemed to be getting along great." 

"Look, clearly Unity's not interested in humans, and I can take a hint, I'm not s-stupid. Let's just forget it, okay?" Rick looked like he really didn't want him to bring it up again.

"Fine," Stan still wasn't happy about it, but he figured he'd respect what Rick asked. "I'm not going to lie though, my eye's hurting bad. I'm find some ice for it, you don't have to come with me." 

"Sure, fine." Rick scratched at his arm, knowing it looked bad for him to be backing down so easily like that. "I'll be out on the porch, I think some guys are smoking some pot." 

"Alien pot?" Stan asked sarcastically.  

"Nope. It's probably the only thing aliens actually like about Earth, it's an export, shipped out kind of like that soda is. F-Fun fact, I guess. That's a kinda fun fact." Rick ran a hand through his hair. "See you in a bit, then." 

Stan navigated carefully through the house to the kitchen once again, and wasn't surprised at all when the ice in the freezer was all gone, probably all put into drinks or the beer's ice buckets. And he was not going to reach in there and put whatever slime and oil mixture was in those buckets on his busted up eye. He'd kind of expected to not find anything anyway, he figured maybe Rick would have some time to think if he was by himself for a little bit. 

Stan let out a big yawn, came closer and joined Rick where he stood looking off he balcony. Rick shivered, holding desperately to his elbows. His teeth were clicking together. Stan took off his coat and draped it over Rick, then leaned his onto one of Rick's shoulders, shooting him a soft smile.

"Couldn't find any ice. How're you doing, Rick?" He asked, clearly talking about the near-death experience from the previous night. 

"Pfft." Rick replied, rolling his eyes and jutting out his lip. "I-I-I'm not a _teenage girl_. What did you think I was gonna do,  _jump?_ "

Stan said nothing, waiting patiently, and Rick lowered his eyes and nervously scratched at his arm. "I-I'm all right." Rick said quietly. "Thanks for the coat."

"Good." Stan slugged his shoulder and let go, curling his hands around the freezing iron of the railing. "Because this is the plan. We're getting Unity to come back home with you if it's the last thing we do." 

" _Why?!_ " He gave Stan a sour look. "That guy said it wasn't looking for humans, much less monominds. We should just get out of here. This party's bunk anyway. I don't think it's interested."  

"C'mon, Rick! She-"

" _It_ ," Rick interjected.

"Fine. _It_ , is clearly super into you. I came all the way out here when all I _want_ to be doing is laying on my bed, chilling out and listening to my records and icing my stupid hurting face, so I'm not going to let you come home empty handed." Stan smiled at him. "Go get 'em, tiger. You're _Rick_ frikkin' _Sanchez_ , everyone here for some reason knows who you are, that guy probably knew he didn't stand a chance so he lied to you. Let's get back in there, champ." 

Rick gave him a pouty look, biting on the inside of his lip so that it jutted out. " _Fiiiine_. One more shot. But if it fails, we're getting the hell out of here." 

"Deal." Stan clapped him on the shoulder, and he was unsurprised that it kind of hurt because of how boney Rick was. "C'mon." 

"I just need to be _waaaaaaay_ more drunk for this," Rick pulled his trusty flask out of his inner pocket, and Stan stood by patiently as he tipped it back, his Adam's apple bobbed and he glugged all the rest of it down without even taking a break to breathe. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He slipped out that little baggie again and snorted more coke using the sinewy triangle of his snuffbox, laughing elatedly from the high. 

"Now. How's my hair look?" Rick asked, and Stan just let out a puff of a laugh and messed it up even more in reply, then tugged at his arm to tote him back inside the house.

By the time they got back inside and back downstairs, the hivemind was surrounded by a crowd of at least five other potential suitors, and Unity was clearly pretty uncomfortable by the way all three humans had flushed faces and seemed to be sweating, all with extremely awkward body language as they hugged their arms close or looked at the ground. 

"Hey, all'you _fuckers_ , scram!!" Rick shoved two of them out of the way, and Stan pinched the bridge of his nose in embarrassment. Unity looked very happy to see him, all three facial expressions falling in relief.  

" _Rick_!" The three of them chanted, before just the male took over. "We didn't think you were coming back!"

"Yeah, me neither." The toothy red guy had his arms crossed as he gave Rick a look that could kill. "You were just leaving, weren't you?" 

Rick stalked up close and pointed a finger up at the tall red guy's face. "No, we weren't _just leaving_! This is _my_ planet, and you're just here for the night, so I'm gonna talk to wh _oooo_ ever I fuggin' want, ugly-ass bad claymation s-s-sci-fi movie lookin' son of a bitch shape-shifter!"

Stan couldn't believe his eyes when the terrifyingly beastly red guy shrunk down to be a cowering lump of what seemed like red play-dough, and other aliens pointed and laughed as it half-rolled, half-slunk away. Stan's mouth fell open this time, he couldn't help it. 

"Unity, I really like you, I think you're cool, you got good style pickin' all these redheads, fuck all these other guys, wanna make out?" Rick asked, grinning, coming forward and wrapping all three of them up with his hands on the outside two's waists. He raised an eyebrow. " _Hmm_??" 

Stan stood close by, nursing his cold beer and sometimes holding it up to his black eye for a bit before taking a few more swigs. Rick was pinned up to the wall next to him, and had somehow managed to have three people kissing the hell out of him at once. Stan was pretty sure the twin with bangs was putting her tongue in and making out with his ear, as the other two sucked hickies on his neck and tangled up their tongues. 

Stan just kept taking slow sips of shitty beer. Rick owed him _big time_ for this, he thought, and smiled around the rim of his bottle. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes you just have to smoke pot on a fire escape during sunset and talk about life. I don't make the rules.  
> 

Stan wasn't going to lie. Yes, it had been incredibly loud, but he tried to just stuff his pillows over his ears and think that a few nights before, Rick had tried to kill himself, and so he deserved to have a good time with his sort-of orgy. Was it still considered an orgy if it was four people but technically only two consciousnesses? Stan didn't really know. All he knew was that it was extremely loud, and that the first thing he was going to do in the morning after he had some coffee in his stomach was go buy some earplugs. 

When Stan finally came out of his room at around nine the next morning, he saw Rick passed out on his bed by the window with his arms around all the ginger people sandwiching him, as he snored loudly with an open mouth, drool trickling out of the corner. Despite how weird the whole thing was to him, Stan found himself thinking the scene was actually kind of sweet. Rick really did look content with all these people snuggling up to him, and he could use something nice after everything that had happened to him lately, Stan thought. 

Stan put on a pot of coffee, and Rick must have heard the noise of him walking around as he slowly began to wake up, smacking his lips and stirring. 

"Good morning," Two of Unity's people, Stan wasn't sure which, piped up. "We should get going. We start work at 10, 11 and 1." 

"Mmmph, d'you really gotta go?" Rick asked sleepily, caressing one of the twin's shoulders. "I'll see you soon, right?" 

"We left numbers for you," The guy said, pulling on last night's blue jeans and flashing Rick a grin. "Call us, okay?" 

Rick hummed again, clearly exhausted and slightly hungover. His eyes slipped closed again as he leaned back into his pillow, the other three collected all their clothes and things scattered by his bed. The three of them took turns giving him smooches on the forehead, cheeks and lips, then began to head for the door. Stan cracked an egg into his pan, and shot them a slightly uncomfortable, toothless smile as they piled out the front door. 

"Hey," The ginger guy said under his breath, leaning his shoulder against the fridge as the other two started to make their way for the door, giving him a bright smile and crossing his arms. "We saw you dragging Rick back to us last night after that jerk said not to. We're pretty glad you did." He put two fingers toward on his temple and gave Stan a little salute.

"You're a good friend. We'll be seeing you around, Stan." He rolled smoothly off of the fridge in one motion, and followed the twin girls out the door.

"Y-Yeah," Stan stammered, eyes flicking back down to the egg frying in his pan. He just stared at the shiny yellow yolk for a second. "See you later, Unity." He waited until the door slammed closed to look up again. Man, he was _really_ trying, but he had to admit he was still shaking in his boots when it came to dealing with aliens, even when they looked mostly human. Stan still couldn't really look at those three people and not think about the three people's bodies that were being puppeteered. 

"Aughhh, my _ass_." Rick screwed up his face and rubbed his butt cheeks as he walked up to the kitchen counter in last night's ratty band t-shirt, ankle high black socks and his boxers, which had little planets and stars all over them. "Damn. Birdperson wasn't wrong, I'll tell you that." 

"Why does your--- _ohhh_." Stan scraped at his egg with the edge of his spatula as the edge began to bubble and brown. " _Ehem_. Right." 

"Yeah, there was a guy in the group, whatofit. Gender doesn't really matter to me, ever since I started hangin' with aliens. I-It doesn't exist--it really doesn't matter much. You should accept that sooner than later, Brawns, it'll make a world of difference." Rick rolled his eyes. "Newsflash, you went to an _alien party_ last night. I didn't think much would surprise you anymore." He slumped over at the kitchen counter, leaning into hands. "Get that coffee flowing, Lee, I barely slept." 

"What do you think _I_ did, sleep like a baby?" Stan filled him a mug of black coffee and slid it over to him. "So, are you gonna see it again, you think?" 

 "Oh, _hell_ yeah." Rick perked up a bit, then buried his face into his mug and look a long sip. "Unity's pretty..uh...pretty awesome. Really smart, too, and doesn't mind humans. We're, _uhh_ , not r-really well liked by the rest of the galaxy, but that's a no-brainer. It promised next time it's over, it'll have a few more additions to the hive. P-Pretty exciting stuff. It definitely didn't feel like a one night stand. So that's, uh..... that's good, I guess." Rick took another loud slurp of his coffee. "Oh, and Unity left all three of its numbers." 

Rick slid forward a piece of paper with three different telephone numbers, all scrawled in different handwriting. "I-it just _really_ didn't want me to forget to call." He smiled, leaning into his hand with his elbow propped up on the counter, looking a bit smitten. "Damn, it's cute." 

"Can I get a 'thank you' for dragging your stupid ass back to them last night, or what?" Stan smirked back, leaning against the counter with his elbows and taking a long sip out of his own steaming mug he'd "accidentally" taken from some office break room when he'd done a few months as a janitor. 

" 'Over my d-dead body', right?" Rick shot back, dumped some liquor from his flask into the coffee, and then tipped it back to swallow all at once. He made a very loud burp, dragged the back of his hand across this mouth, and then tried to smooth down his extremely unruly brown bedhead. "Damn, I g-gotta shower. Loooottta frosting _and_ icing, if you catch my drift." He threw up two finger guns.

 Stan covered his eyes with his palm, his cheeks flushing slightly pink. "I already _heard_ most of it, okay? Just... spare me the details." 

Rick pulled off his band shirt and threw it to lump next to his bed, and made his way toward the bathroom. "If you want to join in next time, man, all _\--urp--_ all you gotta do is ask." He smirked. "I'm sure Yoon can spare a person or two for you next time it's over." 

Stan choked on his sip off coffee and spent a minute coughing, which mainly masked his laughter. 

*   *   *

A few orange embers danced off the tip of the rolled joint and Rick tapped at it to ash it, and he passed it off to Stan. Stan took it from him and took in a long inhale, watching the glowing orange climb slowly toward his mouth. He held the smoke in for second then breathed out with a sigh of relief, leaning further back onto the rail behind his back. The two of them sat on the rickety black fire escape, watching the darkening sky as it went from orange to indigo.

Stan was bundled up in his trusty letterman's jacket, and Rick wore his thick black coat, the very same one Stan had first found him in. The air was growing extremely cold, Stan thought it might even snow soon. Rick had his legs dangling through the rails so he could kick his feet back and forth, but it was only because his legs were so damn skinny that they could fit through in the first place. Stan leaned with his back against the same rail, so that the two of them sort of faced each other. Stan didn't really like to look down at the alley below either--he really wasn't too keen on high places, and he usually did a good job of covering that up but he had a feeling Rick had picked up on it. That was the curse of the genius, observation you couldn't turn off. Stan knew this secondhand: he knew a lot about geniuses secondhand. 

"N-Nice," Rick smirked, taking the joint back from Stan and sucked in where he held it pinched between two fingers. Stan's already spaced-out eyes traced his movements, and for some reason the thought popped into his head that the way Rick smoked was just so _cool._ Stan had always held the base pinched close between his thumb and forefinger, whereas Rick smoked it like a cigarette in the crook of two fingers. Rick did a lot of tiny things like that, Stan thought to himself. Nonchalant things, he probably didn't even notice he was doing them, but damn he looked cool doing them. Like working on his chemistry set, or laying back on the couch plucking on his guitar strings, relaxed as can be.

"Iron lungs, eh?" Rick asked as he exhaled his own opaque, curly cloud. 

"Not my first rodeo," Stan laughed and took the passed joint again. He'd probably stop after a couple more puffs: this stuff was strong. He could already feel it unwinding his muscles, making him feel a little floaty and, worst of all, loosening up the filter between his mouth and his thoughts. Stan tried his hardest to keep quite a bit of what he thought to himself. 

"You know, all weed's female." Rick said, looking down with a squint at the joint and seeing if he needed to ash it again, then decided against it an took another long suck between his fingers that crackled the paper. He blew out another thick white cloud of smoke. "The guy is what you m-make all that useful stuff out of...s-shirts 'n rope or whatever. Y-You got a fifty-fifty for seeds, just like people. If it starts making flowers, congrats, it's a girl, and you can smoke 'er. It's why we call her Mary Jane." 

"No way," Stan chuckled, feeling something already. He closed his eyes in a drowsy blink and let his head fall back against the cold metal bars, then accepted the joint as Rick passed it his way again. "Shit's crazy." 

"L-Lots'a shit's crazy, Stanley. Crazier than you ever c-coulda....thought up." Rick looked up at the stars above for a second, and Stan realized Rick was probably the only person he knew that probably knew all about them, maybe even would visit some of them one day. It was embarrassing, but Stan was definitely someone who always had a sentimental high. He usually just kept those thoughts to himself, but they always appeared. This puff burned a little more as it was closer to his mouth and almost finished, and Stan's fingers felt a little numb and uncoordinated as he passed it back once again.

"Go ahead and finish that one up," He mumbled, settling in comfortably with his back to the rail, crossing his hands over his stomach. Stan couldn't help the dopey smile on his face. "Man, it's been _forever_ since I've had some of this stuff. It's strong."

"Y-Yeah, well, that's 'cuz it's grown on this planet, Flimer, uh, F-Flimerplop, where there's....like...LSD in the soil-"

"Rick--! _Are you fucking seri_ -" 

"I'm kidding!" Rick held the joint in his teeth and put up two innocent palms. "What did I tell you about it being an Earth export? Heh, you're gullible." He took in another puff, smirking around it.

"Whatever." Stan had to chuckle. "Stop _doing_ that, man!" 

Rick took what was left and continued smoking slowly and calmly, not like the two of them were in any hurry."Hey, Rick... you think you'll ever want kids?" Stan asked, folding his arms and pressing his palms to the back of his head as he leaned back into them. He looked up, the moon was a sliver, like a fingernail had punctured the darkening sky. "I'm not gonna lie, I've thought about it. If I can find some stable money, somehow, maybe. I mean, I _like_ kids. I know 'tough guys' like me aren't supposed to say that or some bullshit. I'll admit it--kids are pretty great in my book." 

"Yeah, kids. Ugh..." Rick looked like he'd tasted something sour as he put out the joint and smushed it onto the metal. "I-I-I don't really want to have any, but I _have_ to." Rick replied quietly, mirroring Stan and tipping his head to look up at the sky. He laid back with his legs still poking through and dangling, putting his palms behind his head so his elbows angled out next to his ears. "I'll be a pretty shitty dad, I already know that. But it's... I don't know. I don't have a choice. It's a... set course." Rick captured his lower lip between his teeth, with a pout Stan knew so well by now.

Stan turned to look at him instead of the sky, wrinkling up his forehead. "You lost me there." 

"You know I'm not from his dimension already, right?" Rick sighed. "So, I know how to travel between them. There's...  _things_... that can't change, no matter how different or whacky a universe is from this one. So, I'm meant to have a kid, that kid will have _grand_ kids, and all of them are _things_ I can't change. Apparently." He took his flask out of his interior pocket, took a swig, and shut his eyes for a second. "I-It must be kinda nice, to ask questions like that. _Pffff_. Wish I didn't know."

"How do you know all that?" Stan asked, raising an eyebrow. "I never stop learning things from you, do I?" 

Rick looked slightly flattered or taken off-guard, but tried to hide it and looked away. "I-I dunno. I've been around, y'know, it took a while to search for a universe like this one to stay for good. I had to find one where another _me_ wasn't walking around..all..high 'n mighty. I guess the me from this universe died a couple years ago." 

Stan shuddered. "Man, I never thought about all the shit you've had to wade through." He took up Rick's silent offer of the flask being held out to him and tossed it back. "Stuff's messed up." 

"..Yeah," Rick sighed. He took another swig of alcohol, it swished loudly in its container. "I sometimes think... why me, y'know?" 

"Yeah," Stan agreed quietly, looking at his hands. They were riddled with scars, and he had a couple band-aids on his knuckles on his right hand. He shuffled his feet for a second, a bit nervously. "Y'know, Rick, how did you know moving in with me would be a... I won't say _good_ , but okay idea?" 

"Not to be an asshole, but there's a lot of things you don't know." Rick ran a hand through his unruly hair, still laying down on his back. He was looking at something off to the side. "People's minds... emit wavelengths, got it? Some can be paired together, and they can cancel one another out. Geniuses have a certain wave, and there are people who..." Rick sucked in a breath. "Geniuses are pretty rare, you know that, right?" 

"Yeah." Stan said sourly, thinking about Ford again and without knowing it his eyelids fell to hood his eyes. Maybe it wouldn't have been as bad if they weren't identical, but Stan always felt like Ford was the one on this Earth with their face that was actually _meant_ to be here, Stan felt like he was a fluke from when their cells divided. Ford was going to do great things for this world, and Stan felt like he was just extra, taking up space he wasn't meant to have in the first place. "Don't I know it." 

"Well, the people with wavelengths that can... uh...  _neutralize_ a genius's are rare too. And you're one of them. So every minute I spend with you, I'm safe." 

"Safe from _what_ , Rick?" Stan furrowed his brow. "And me?! _Rare?_ " He laughed sourly. "You don't have to make shit up to make me feel better about myself, man." 

"Safe from people who know what I'm up to, see, as you'd expect, traveling between dimensions isn't exactly _legal_." Rick shut his eyes. "Y-You know what, Brawns, let's just drop this now. I just want to turn my brain off for a little bit. Can we just do that?" 

"Sure," Stan replied softly. "Let's just chill out for a bit, sure." 

"Yeah," Rick mumbled, resting his folded hands on his stomach. Rick bit his lip again and scratched at his scalp again. "I-I don't... don't want you to think that's the only reason why I'm rooming with you. I mean, it's a big _part_ of it... I mean, I did track you down by brainwave before I even knew you, but--" 

Stan curled his fingers around the neck of the bottle of whiskey he'd brought up with them and took a couple burning sips. Sometimes you just had to let Rick babble and get it all out.

"I'd bet it's cuz of that other genius," Rick said. "P-people who know our kind tend to do better with all of us. _Erhem_. Who-" 

"He was my best friend." Stan sighed. "My brother." 

"Oh?" Rick sat up at that one, leaning back into his palms instead and looking at Stan. "Older or younger?" 

"Twins, actually." Stan replied easily. "Identical."

"S-So that's why you said something about _our_ birthday. _Ahh_ , haha, now I get _-ourpppgh_ \- it. W-What's he like?" 

"Not like me at all. Smart, ethical. _Kind_. He really wants to make a change in this world for the better." Stan took another sip. "He's a big nerd, I used to call him Poindexter. He hated that." Stan laughed, his chest had grown tight all the sudden.  

"Y-You miss him, huh?" 

"I wish I didn't," Stan admitted, looking away. "But how can I _not?_  I can't just... I don't know. I've tried to forget about him, even just for a day. I can't, when I see him in the mirror." Stan's voice broke after that, and he wiped at his eyes that had just started to run.

"Sorry," He rasped.

"W-Why don't you...mmm. Nevermind." Rick took another pull. "I kinda get it." 

"Yeah. We're opposites, he's making the 'rents proud, giving some credit to the family name, while I'm out here getting into bar fights and stealing from _high schoolers_ and shoplifting pretty much everything I own. He doesn't want to see me. He's off doing great stuff that's gonna 'save the world', and I'm just... a waste of space, it feels like." Stan took in a tight breath. He'd never be admitting this stuff if he wasn't a little bit high, it was just slipping out so easily. He hadn't told anyone this, and it felt sort of good to get it off his chest. "Look, I know how identical twins form. One baby divides to be two real early on. I feel like, maybe, I'm not even meant to exist sometimes, you know? _Ford's_ the one who's meant to be here, not me, and I'm just... a mistake."  

"You're not." Rick said after a beat. "I could prove it on one of my machines back home, too. If you want to see it on paper." 

"Now **_that_** was a lie," Stan belly laughed and captured the glass lip of the bottle back into his mouth. Rick smirked.

" _Fine_ , you caught me." Rick chuckled, lay back down flat and sucked on his flask. "Y'know, Brawns, I feel like you 'n me got opposite problems but they're the same in shitty-ness." 

"Hmm," Stan hummed. "How do you mean?" 

"C-Cuz you worry that you weren't meant to exist, and I'm meant to exist so _hard_ that there's a version of me in every stupid dimension." Rick let out a chuckle. "Damn. We really are opposites. W-we even have each other's half fuckin' birthdays." 

"Scrawny 'n Brawny." Stan laughed. "Not even taking on the world. Just...doin' shit." 

"S-Scrawny 'n Brawns, doin' dumb shit." Rick smiled around the lip of his bottle, then pulled up his legs once again from the gaps, and really only struggling to get his shoes back through the guardrail. "W-We should make shirts." 

Stan decided to lay back, too. Part of this railing was really digging into his spine. Stan rested his hands behind his head, and a moment later Rick nuzzled down and used Stan's bicep as a pillow. They sat for a minute, Stan tipping back his whiskey with loud sloshes and Rick steadily sucking on his silver flask. Stan felt hyperaware of the weight of Rick's head on his arm, the texture of his hair. 

 _Fuck it_ , Stan thought, and pulled his hand out from under his head and crooked his arm around Rick's neck instead, drawing him just a bit closer. Rick wriggled even closer, Stan could feel the body heat radiating off of him as parts of his coat pressed against him. Stan's arm bent at the elbow once again, he reached up and sank his fingers into Rick's unruly brown hair, cupping his skull in his palm. Stan leaned closer, knocking his forehead against the side of Rick's head, just above his ear. 

" _God_ , this world is strange." Stan said into his ear, the marijuana slightly drawling out his words.

"Yeah," Rick agreed softly, and Stan's warm exhale ruffled some of the hairs curled behind his ear. "It is, huh?" 

Stan didn't know what had overcome him, but he pulled even closer until his nose was buried in Rick's spiky hair, until the length of his nose was pressed up against the hard skull under all that hair. It wasn't like he was trying to take whiff, but now that he was here, it all smelled like marijuana smoke, something beer-ish and bitter, with the faint undertone of pine. So, that's where his shampoo had been disappearing off to. 

"Fucking moocher," Stan accused playfully, a drunken smile stretching across his face. "You've been stealing all of my goddamn shampoo, ya freeloader!" 

"Oh yeah? Wh-why are you smelling my hair?! Fucking _creep_." Rick accused right back, laughing, and finally he turned his face to the side. For some reason, it startled Stan how _close_ he suddenly was. Their eyes were just inches apart, noses even closer, maybe centimeters apart. Stan could make out so many details in the genius's face now, his eyes had grown droopy and red from the reefer, the purple-grey color underneath was like a bruise in its last leg of fading away. The irises were shiny like twin buttons, the color was like a bar of extra dark chocolate. His breath smelled like the vodka in his flask.

Their lips weren't too far apart right about now, either, Stan realized, and quickly forced his gaze away from them. 

"What, you're not even gonna defend yourself, hair-sniffer?" Rick teased again, and suddenly Stan felt the warm press of his hand over his own ear, he didn't realize how ice cold the tips of his ears had grown until he felt the touch.

"No? What if I just did... _this?!"_ Rick swiftly hooked his leg over his body and pinned him down, burying his face into his mullet and taking a deep snort of a sniff, similar to the sound he made when he snorted down a line of cocaine.

Stan erupted into laughter, wrestling him off of him, the two tangling and wrestling until Stan had pinned him down on his back. Rick wheezed and laughed, a little winded.

"Skinny-ass punk." Stan gave him one last shove and pulled himself to his feet, realizing the alcohol was starting to give him the spins. Rick's chest still heaved with laughter where he was splayed out against the black metal on the fire escape, he reached out and grasped the neck of the brandy and took a long pull from it, laying down on his back. 

" _Guhh_ ," Rick exhaled and dragged the back of his hand over his mouth, still chuckling. "Fuck. Next time, we're thumb wrestling." 

"I'm getting cold up here Rick, let's go back home." Stan said, shoving his hands in his pockets, the fire escape all around him spinning. If it got much darker, it might be hard to climb back down. The metal was sucking all his warmth right out of him, and he kind of just wanted to be back on his couch and not this high up when he wasn't sober, too. He was suddenly very aware of the height, and felt a jolt of fear rush down his spine. 

"You're always cold, what the fuck. You're like this jacked up guy with bruised knuckles and yet you wimp the hell out when it gets cold." Rick poked fun at him. Still, it seemed like he knew it wasn't the temperature. Stan was pretty sure he could have guessed about his fear of heights.  

"Whatever," Stan chuckled, grabbing the whiskey by the neck and standing up. "How are you _not_? You're the bag of bones here!" 

Rick started climbing down first. "Har, har, haven't hea-- _Uurph_ -rrd that shit before. I took a shit-ton of uppers before I went out here. I'm like a furnace, bitch! Ha- _ha!_ " 

 "Shuddup. Let's get something to eat, I'm starving." 

*   *   *

It had been a while since this had last happened to Stan.

The first time this had happened, Stan thought maybe his terrible junk food diet had finally clogged up his arteries, like a gross truck stop toilet, that he was having a heart attack and that soon he would be dead. Of course, it didn't make much sense that he was only around nineteen at the time, nearly twenty, and most nineteen year olds don't die of heart attacks, no matter how much junk food they eat.

His heart squeezed now, beating on so fast it was like it was going to tear the skin and force itself out of his chest. In the darkness, Stan took in quick, shallow pants of breath and curled into the smallest ball physically possible, not even realizing he'd been crying until he felt the wetness on his kneecaps as he hugged his body close. 

He waited for it to pass, pure terror gripping him tight in its cold grasp as his chest flared in and out, the fast pace of his breathing filling his ears.

He would never go back.

Never, ever. 

They couldn't make him.

He forced his eyes open and took in a few bits of his darkened bedroom, trying to ground himself.

There were his blinds with their messed up slats. Most of the off-white strips were bent in a few places, stained from cigarette smoke, or missing completely, and the whole thing was hanging at an angle after it broke and only drew up on one side. There was a cratered dent in the drywall, from when he must have stumbled into the wall a little too hard when he was shitfaced. He looked at his dresser, only one drawer had the original handle still on it. The others had been fashioned out of lumpy modeling clay, or maybe that was actually chewing gum, or cherry stained popsicle sticks. Those, he’d made himself. But it looked like Rick had done some soldering for him, and he'd attached a few makeshift U-shaped handles, poking out of melty silver at the base.

_Right,_ Stan thought. Rick lived here, too.

The thought of Rick, slumbering away just beyond the wall at his back, flooded Stan a feeling of immense relief, almost enough for the panic attack to lift ever-so-slightly.

He could run from the law forever, if he wanted to. He could outsmart any police officer swine and buy (sometimes, literally, because bills up sleeves worked like a charm) just enough time to escape again. Maybe Rick would even have some tricks up his sleeve, too. When it came to the law, he wasn’t exactly an angel either.

He never, ever, ever had to go to prison again, Stan repeated to himself like a skipping record. Never.

Stan heard his bedroom door hinges squeal open, light from the living room spilled into the bedroom in a diagonal stripe and Rick stumbled into the bathroom, and Stan tried to completely contain his rapid breathing in time for Rick to stop taking a piss. 

The sound of the stream hitting water finally ended and Rick came back out into the bedroom, his sleepy eyes falling shut. He briefly steadied himself with an elbow to the bathroom's doorframe, squinting down hard at Stan. 

Stan had really been trying to avoid this happening, but they met eyes. 

“Oh," Rick said, his expression breaking into something a lot more easy, before sauntering over and plopping himself down at the foot of Stan's bed with a small bounce. "I thought maybe you were jacking off in here. But the fact there's- there's no smell gave it away. Mine kinda smells like Thai food." 

“ _Pfft_. Rick, gross." Stan couldn't help but chuckle, even though the tears in his throat made the laughter come out in an pitiful watery way. He hated sounding like that, even when no one could hear him, it scared even himself. He didn't move, he was frozen still lying there in his small ball with the blankets pulled up to his neck.

Rick's expression was conflicted as he looked at Stan for a moment, his jittery and fidgeting hands not sure what to do with themselves, and Rick finally took some of the blankets into his fists just to still them. Maybe he wanted to ask Stan what was wrong, but at the same time, maybe he wanted to tell him to shut the fuck up and slam the door shut on his way out. His hesitation dragged on.

"Uh- do you want, uhh- I got sleeping pills." Rick finally decided to say, squeezing those blankets in his fists. "They work even better than knocking yourself out with a brick. And that's not a metaphor. I've literally knocked myself out with a brick before. So, yeah. This stuff's better than that. Uh- they’re homemade. I- I made them."

"Why not," Stan's voice came out a lot softer than he'd intended it to, and he hated how much younger he felt compared to Rick at that moment. Maybe four years actually was a lot.

Rick got to his feet and left the room with a few strides, all lanky legs, and Stan took this time to try and stretch. Both of his legs were locked in Charley horses, and Stan gritted his teeth and kneaded at his calves until the balls of muscle loosened up. He stretched out and lay on his back, staring up at a ringed water spot on his ceiling, listening to the soft bumps of Rick's footsteps moving throughout the other room.

Having a roommate felt pretty great right about now.

Rick came back, arched a mischievous eyebrow, and this time he sat at the edge of the bed right next to Stan's shoulder.

"Once this dissolves, you'll be out like a light." Rick snapped his fingers before he popped one into his mouth. 

"Open sesame," Rick poked hard at Stan's moist cheek, and Stan felt a little silly when he parted his lips and let his mouth hang open. He could taste the saltiness from the skin of Rick's fingers when he pushed a pill into his mouth, where it began to instantly dissolve underneath his tongue. 

Rick stared off into the corner of the room, one twiggy leg propped up, one dangling, and he bobbed his hanging foot's ankle in a nervous fidget. 

"...Panic attack?" Rick tried his absolute hardest to sound casual about it, and he still didn't face him and Stan was left to look at his face in profile. He propped his elbow up on his knee, and twisted a ring on his middle finger around and around. "Yeah, these little shits are no stranger to me. It's like they think I put a fuckin' welcome mat out for them at the entrance to my-my mind."

“Poetic," Stan snorted, he could already feel that medicine start to make his muscles relax and he felt like he was sort of melting into his bed. “Wait, are you a _songwriter_ or something? I can’t tell-"

"Shut the fuck up, Stanley, I reaallly wish you were already asleep." Rick snapped at him, but his actions said otherwise as he wriggled a little more towards the center of the bed. Stan moved a little closer to the wall to give him some more room, and it was quiet except for the sounds of their shuffling and adjusting.

“… I think it was because I dreamt about prison." Stan spoke up, and it felt pretty good to tell someone. He lay on his side, and spoke to his hand resting a few inches from the tip of his nose.  "I thought I was still locked up, for a second there, when I woke up, before I opened my eyes."

Now that he thought about it, Stan wasn't sure he'd told anyone about the terror that gripped him like this sometimes, or how terrible prison had really been.  

"Hm," Rick hummed, like he was disinterested. Somehow, Stan knew that he actually wasn't: that he really did care. That ankle of his still bobbed on nervously, Stan could hear its faint scratching sound as it rubbed. 

"It fucking sucked in there." Stan continued and spoke to the blank wall now, but he could feel the way the bed was dipping near his shoulder, so he knew Rick was still there. He balled some of his sheets into his hand, letting out a sigh that shuddered his chest on its way out.

"What, r-really? I thought it was just like summer camp!" Rick replied, snarky as always. 

"Fuck you," Stan replied quickly, instinctually, but found his chest jumping with laughter at the end of his sentence. How could Rick make him laugh when he felt this shitty?

There was more adjusting, and Stan thought maybe Rick was laying down next to him, now. But Stan was too chicken to turn around and really see for himself, as he lay on his side facing the cracked wall. That, and whatever the hell Rick had fed him was really starting to work, and fast. He didn’t really want to move, but he didn’t even know if he could either.

Had Stan really thought about what it would be like to kiss him, when his eyes just happened to snag on the image of his lips for a second up there on the fire escape? But that didn't mean anything, everyone had weird thoughts like those, right? Like thinking about plunging a big knife you're cooking with into your stomach, or when you flick on a lighter sticking it up to your hair or something. Just the brain being weird, right? Wanting to close that gap that was between their faces, wanting to feel Rick's lips on his- it was just one of those thoughts. It had to be. 

"Rick..." Stan began, and for the first time in his life he felt like telling another person, like he trusted someone enough to. "Look, I'm gonna tell ya something I've never said before. To anyone." 

Rick said absolutely nothing. Stan was silent right back, and realized he'd changed his mind. 

No, of course he wasn't going to tell Rick about this. It was _Rick_ he was talking about, here. 

What was he even thinking?

"What," Rick's voice had lowered to just a whisper, right behind him, and from the way it sounded, it was like he was facing the back of his head. Suddenly Stan felt like it was him and Ford when they were kids again, in a fort they'd built, with the rule that you could only whisper, and the space was cursed so that only secrets could leave the lips. 

He could do this. He could say this to someone after having it inside all this time.

"In prison..." Stan began tentatively. His eyes closed, and he pretended for a moment like he was really talking to just himself. "It was the fuckin' pits. I got stabbed in the gut with a shank made out of a scraped down coin, I couldn't keep down the slop, I sucked off tons of guys just to get my tobacco fix… and..." Stan hesitated.

Rick’s hand, touch light as a feather, skimmed over and finally came to a rest over Stan’s lower ribs. Even though it was over the fabric of his shirt, it might as well have not been. It felt intimate, like it was all really bare skin. Stan felt a blush instantly spread very hot over his face, neck, chest, ears. 

“Uh... this okay?” Rick asked quietly, tapping his finger once over Stan’s rib. 

 “Yeah,” Stan whispered, heaving out a sigh and Rick's hand followed when his ribcage dipped with it. He tried again. "Rick, I… I was…"

“You don’t have to say it.” Rick whispered again, right behind his head. "I get it."

He couldn't believe he'd finally told someone. Well, sort of. He was relieved that Rick was as smart as he was, so he could read between the lines, so Stan didn't have to say the words aloud, to make it even more real than it already was. Stan melted even more into the mattress, the rate that he could feel himself slipping under was almost too fast, and he fought it hard, a little unnerved by how it felt to be sucked under with so much force like this.

“It only happened once.” Stan said to the wall. He cleared his throat. “And I never let my guard down like that again. I made sure they _all_ knew exactly what I could do to them. That I was gonna be the last person they'd fuck with.”

“Hm,” Rick hummed again, in that weird way of his again. His hand still rested right there on Stan's side, feeling like it was much heavier than it should have been. Its warmth and pressure commanded so much of Stan’s attention.

“It could’ve been more times. Way more. So. I’m lucky for that. I guess.” Stan found himself speaking in choppier sentences, his breathing had spiked up again and he was struggling to keep it in check. 

“I’m never going back.” Stan growled, balling his hands into fists even though his body was getting limper. “Never. I’ll- I'll avoid it. Forever.” 

“ _Hmmm_ ,” Rick hummed, drawing it out much longer than before, and Stan couldn’t help but draw the comparison to some of the noises he’d heard through the wall when Unity had spent the night.

"Well, this stuff is really, uhh, dissolving here, so I-ooh fuc _snnnrrkkkk_ ," Rick passed out cold before he could finish his sentence, snoring loudly with his mouth hanging open.

"Rick! Hell no, get your ass out of my-" Similarly, Stan was knocked out without much grace, his body flopped down with a bounce, his mouth hanging wide open and his limbs were strewn in odd positions and angles. 

When Stan woke up, he was alone in his bed, shoved to one side and sleeping near the seam where the mattress met the wall. White light poured in through his broken slats, it might have been close to noon by now. There was not much evidence that Rick had spent the night, only wrinkled covers. 

It was some of the best sleep that Stan had gotten in years. It had been so good that it was almost too much, like drinking vanilla extract straight from the bottle. He only could remember the faintest wisps of memory during the night, like the warm slide of skin from a hairy leg brushing between his calves. He recalled several of Rick’s snorts, sighs and sniffs. His arm had briefly pressed over someone else's warm skin. Rick’s pokey, boney limbs occasionally prodding into him. His knob knees had pushed up against the backs of Stan's for a little while there, too.

Stan was almost ready to convince himself that the whole thing had been a weird, vivid dream, up until he saw the darkened patch of drool near where Rick’s head had been resting. Of course, leave it to Rick to slobber all over Stan’s only pair of sheets.  

Rick wasn’t stupid enough to really fall asleep like that on accident, was he? He must have known exactly how much time it would take before he was knocked out by that dissolving pill. And yet, even when Rick probably knew Stan would figure him out, he’d still chosen to make it look like a sloppy accident. Stan scoffed and chuckled to himself before rolling over. He buried his face in the wadded up blankets beside him, and breathed in deep. 

Yeah, they still smelled like Rick, too. That was another little bit of proof that last night had really happened, that he’d really cared enough about Stan’s panic attack, about his confession of being raped in prison, that he’d chosen to sleep next to him all night, even though he’d probably go blue in the face denying it.

Stan felt a strange, sort of blooming sensation in his chest, but only for a half a second.

But he could tell at his next inhale- that little freeloader had been using his bar of soap, too.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's a little word to the wise. Never trust anybody who uses mustache wax. Pricks. Each and every one.

_January, 1982_

Stan couldn't remember the last time the blinds in the living room had been completely drawn. He usually liked to have the windows open and all the curtains drawn back, so if he had to live in a shitty, cramped apartment at least he could have some light to kill the bacteria and keep the air clean. Stan wrinkled up his nose at the stuffiness when he unlocked the door and shouldered his way into the apartment, which at moment seemed more like a cave. 

Stan plopped the grocery bags down on the tiled kitchen counter and spread out the mail, which was mostly Rick's. He then emptied all his pockets, sleeves and both shoes of all the other food he'd stolen, including but not limited to; a handle of tequila, four candy bars, a bag of chips, and an entire T-bone steak.

"Rick?" Stan called out, squinting in the dark. "You got some mail. One's from BP, I think." His eyes still hadn't quite adjusted, since it was a bright day outside and close to two o' clock in the afternoon. Rick might have been on his bed, but he wasn't lying down. Instead, he seemed to be sitting up, tucked into himself with his arms hugging his knees. He'd been fast asleep, belly-down, when Stan had went to run errands a few hours ago, and he must have closed all the blinds since then.

"Rick?" Stan's heart gave a flutter as he came up to him, just because he still hadn't really shaken the fear from the day he'd had to inject him with his strategically placed syringe. He still sometimes had nightmares about it, but he'd never confess that to Rick, or to anybody. 

" _Ghhh_. Oh, hey." Rick replied, his eyes slitting open just enough so Rick could look at him through his eyelashes. He still had yellowish morning crusts around the corners of them, like he couldn't be bothered to even expend the effort to wipe them away. He rested his chin on the top of his knobby knees, and just by the strained muscles in his face Stan could tell he was in pain. "Yeah, yeah. Good idea. C'mere." 

"What's going on?" Stan pulled out his usual desk chair and sat down, he reached out and felt for a fever. Rick was burning up, and his eyes fell closed once he felt the touch of his hand. His brown hair was an absolute rat's nest, worst than Stan had ever seen it before. His skin felt sticky from a layer of sweat that had dried up a while ago. "Are you trying to get sober again? This kind of seems like withdrawal." 

Rick shot him a sickly _look_ , but it got the point across very clearly-- Stan should know him better than that by now. 

" _Fine_ ," Stan huffed, blowing a piece of long hair off his forehead. "I get it."

"My head hurts," Rick all but whimpered, burying his face into his knees. "Th-This happened a lot as a kid, but...there's something else. It's me. S-Sorry...I mean... _other_ me's. I think." 

"What do you...ohh. You mean, like, other dimensions?" 

Rick nodded, bobbing his head just once. "Something bad. I think...it's _all_ of them." 

"What do you mean all of them?" 

"I-I don't know, Brawny, **okay?!** " He gripped the messy hair on the top of his head, then dragged his hands down his face so the palms could dig into his eyes.

"...Sorry," Rick mumbled softly right afterwards. "Hurts." 

"You think my brainwaves or whatever are strong enough to hide you?" Stan moved in closer almost protectively, gripping onto the edge chair between his parted legs to lean forward. "If all of you are having something done to them, maybe that's why it's taken this long to get to you, right? Because of the neutralizing thing?"

"Brawns... y-you're right, 'coz while you've been concentrating next to me, I've been sleeping. It m-must have made the mask even stronger. Stanley, yo-you're not too bad at this." Rick finally gave him a sickly grin, but it quickly faded.

"What?" Stan leaned even closer. "C'mon Rick, this is serious." 

"I _know_ ," Rick sighed. "Shit, man. How do you feel about going through a bit of... _uhh_...a little bit of induced pain?" 

Stan stiffened, capturing his lower lip between his teeth. "How bad?" 

"Just enough to boost your brain waves." Rick replied, the gears visibly turning in his head as his feverishly dry eyes slid from side to side, as if he were chasing invisible equations with them. "It'll work. I _think_." 

"Okay, then." Stan cleared his throat, puffing out his chest a little bit to try and trick himself into thinking he was more into this than he really was. "I'll do it." 

 "I have a healing...uh...stuff. In my Lab." Rick croaked. "I'll use it once the danger's gone." 

"Okay." Stan still was biting down on his lip, bracing himself as Rick clambered unsteadily to his feet and made his way to the kitchen. He keeled over the sink and threw up. " 'm fine," Rick mumbled after that, wiping his mouth and snorting loudly. Stan sat on the edge of the bed and nervously played with his hands, thinking that maybe Rick was doing some quick chemistry with some of the supplies in the kitchen.

Nope, he just came back with a knife and a bottle of hot sauce. 

"You're _serious_?" Stan eyed it, feeling his heart start to pound hard in his chest. His fingers curled around the sheets. "Jesus Christ." 

"I owe you one." Rick shook a few drops onto the edge of the knife, then took Stan's wrist in his hand and pulled to extend his arm, so he could have a clear shot at his bicep. "I pr-promise, no pain after this is over." 

"You owe me wayyy more than one, asshoo _oooww JESUS_!" Stan clamped his palm hard over his arm, where Rick had slashed without any warning. "Fucking hell, _why did I agree to this_." Stan hissed through clenched teeth. Rick handed him a long sock to wrap around it, and Stan accepted it hastily. He felt like lava had been injected into his arm, and his entire bicep was on a spit on a slow-roast over hellfire. 

"I-I'm sorry," Rick placed the knife back onto the desk with a small clink. He looked even worse for wear--his skin was a few shades lighter than normal with a sickly, greyish pallor, and his eyes were shadowed with a bruisey purple. A pain-induced sweat had broken out on his cheeks and on his nose.

"Not enough time for fancy stuff, Stanley."

Stan just shook his head in reply, holding the sock hard against his arm and his face was locked in a hard grimace. 

"Now, we wait." Rick croaked, scooting backward with his back pressed to the small part of wall next to his bed that wasn't the large window, a blaster pointed at the front door tucked in between his knees because he couldn't hold it on his own without it shaking. Stan curled up around his arm next to him closer to the foot of the bed, breathing out in hisses. 

It was very quiet for a few minutes, and Rick could feel some kind of shift in his splitting headache. He placed a gentle hand on Stan's brown head of hair, then took it away just as briefly.

"Almost done," Rick whispered. Stan sputtered out a pained breath in reply. 

The front door wasn't blasted in, or flattened, or anything. In fact, they didn't even touch the door. The dark cave of the living room was suddenly illuminated by a lime green light, and three Ricks stepped out one by one. The gooey portal sucked up into itself and disappeared, pitching them into near blackness once again.

"It smells like pits in here," One of the Ricks griped. "Gr-gross." 

Another one of them threw on the lights, to reveal a very sickly-looking Rick with a scowl on his face weakly holding onto his blaster, with a Stan at the foot of his bed curled into a fetal position and not looking much better. 

"Well, wouldja look at this." A Rick with a perfect light blue mustache, even curled up at the ends with mustache wax, looked down at the two wrecks. "No wonder it took such a long time to find you. Y'know, a few other Ricks have Stanley Pines as their roommates in other dimensions, but only _you_ went so far as to put him in pain. So you're a Rick who's not afraid to get his hands a little more dirty than the rest of us. Noted." A glowing green grid shot out of a techy kind of clipboard, scanning Rick's strained, sweating face before snapping back in. 

"Dimension C-137." Mustache Rick pressed a few more buttons. "Low on the spectrum. _Very_ low on the spectrum. It looks like you're actually the third evilest Rick we have. Well, that explains you slashing up pizza-face quarterback over here." 

"W-W-What the hell is this?" Rick stammered, still strangling the hilt of his blaster and looked very small as he remained wedged up against the wall. "Starting a little...little _club_?"

" _Council_ ," Mustache Rick corrected him pretentiously. "The Council of Ricks. There's too many of us who have been scattered for too long. We've decided to band together, there's a strength in numbers this way. Some of us may die...but that's a ricks we're willing to take." His lips curled into a cattish smile. "Get it? _Ricks_?" 

" _Uggggggghhhhh_ ," Rick groaned loudly and rolled his eyes hard. "Th-There's no fucking way you're a version of _me_." 

"I could say the same about you." Mustache Rick replied, both of them looking at each other like they'd just bitten into lemons. "Maybe we're on opposite ends of the spectrum. You'll need a codename. I'm Mustache Rick, and-." 

"Reeeal original," Rick mumbled under his breath. Mustache Rick shot him a scalding look, cleared his throat, and continued talking. 

"My other trio of recruiters, Amputee Rick and Bubblegum Rick." He motioned to the other two Ricks who stood behind him. 

" 'Sup." Bubblegum Rick seemed very disillusioned with the whole thing, and he just continued smacking his gum.

"I'm _r-really_ not liking this code name." Amputee Rick scowled. "So what, I had an accident in the Lab that blew up on me. I happened to be the dimension who got the .0000001 percent chance that it would. B-B-Big whoop. I want to change my code name!" 

"What are you gonna do, cross your arms about it? _Heyyyooo_!" Mustache Rick gave Bubblegum Rick a satisfyingly loud smack of a high-five. Amputee Rick looked flustered and angry and clenched the fist hard of the one arm he did have. His cheeks flushed a bit redder. 

"Wooow. You're really going to try and convince me with _this_ disaster?" Rick scoffed, swiping at his clammy forehead with the back of his hand. "I hate myself. You all hate yourselves. The s-self-loathing.. It's part of being a Rick. How are you supposed to work with people you're hard-wired to hate?" Rick narrowed his eyes. "This is stupid as hell. Get out of our apartment before I start firing this blaster." 

"Oh, isn't this cute, he thinks he has a _choice_." Mustache Rick sneered. "See, it doesn't work that way. There's only three of you left not in the council. This council has to have _every_ Rick, or it won't work. Three of you are expendable. So you either come to council, or we kill you." 

"Yeah," Rick licked his chapped lips. "N-not happening." 

"What'll he go by, boys? Rockstar Rick? Oh, right, we already have one from a dimension where the Flesh Curtains don't _suck_. Punk Rick?" Mustache Rick looked around. "Nope, we already got one of those, too, who has twice the amount of piercings and stupid leather bracelets as you. The brown hair's pretty unique, though. I guess that settles it. Come along, Brown-Hair Rick." 

"T-T-That's the _dumbest_ name I've ever heard." Rick scowled, and got a furious _'I know right?!'_ shrug from Amputee Rick. 

"Rick..." Stan hissed at him through his grimace. His hand was bloodstained, and quite a bit had already soaked through the sock and was staining Rick's white covers. His face had grown exceptionally pale, Rick had been too busy talking to the other Ricks to notice. "I'm seeing stars, I-I think I'm gonna pass out." Stan whispered, his eyes a tad too out of focus to be normal.

"You're wasting our time." Mustache Rick seemed even more irritated, clearing his throat to get his attention. Rick had his lips parted to respond to Stan, but even before he could get a word in Stan passed out, eyes rolling backward with eyelids that quickly fluttered over them. He fell in a slump over himself, head resting on his chest. 

" _Ohhhshit_." Rick cussed under his breath. His shield was down. 

"Nu-Neutralizer unconscious. Shield down," Bubblegum Rick said, looking down at a handheld GPS. "The equipment's going nuts. Other triads are on the way." 

"No!" Mustache hissed, possessive. "We got here first, this is _our_ case! Get up, asshole." He turned toward Rick, desperation shining dangerously in his brown eyes now that he had a time limit. "I'm crunched for time here. Come with me _now_ or I shoot you and your little friend there between the eyes. Or....wait, is this a dimension when he's more than a little friend, _hmmm_?" 

 "Bite me." Rick spat, and pulled the trigger for his blaster. It got Mustache Rick right in the shoulder, where he gasped and clapped his hand over it. Smoke and steam billowed from it, rising up between his fingers. The reek of burnt fabric and charred skin wafted into the room.

" _You.._." Mustache growled, one hand crossed over his chest and pressing hard to his shoulder, the other hand was balled into a fist. He took a step closer.

"I missed on purpose." Rick deadpanned. "I'm not interested in your Ricks-Only club." 

"You realize we have all the power here, don't you get that?!" Mustache Rick's eyes grew large with rage. "I'll be telling this directly to Riq IV!" 

Another green portal stretched into existence, and three more Ricks stepped out. One had bright orange skin and just one, big eye, with pointy incisors that stuck up out of his mouth over his bottom lip, the other two were wearing fancier uniforms with rifles on their backs held in place with a sash, and one had a sinewy scar that cut diagonally across his face. 

"Cyclops Rick, we got here first!" Mustache immediately snapped, on the verge of a tantrum. "Don't you have enough Ricks under your belt, brown-noser? This is _our_  Recruit!" 

" **Ha**!" The orange-skinned cyclops scoffed. "Y-Yeah right. You didn't log it into the s-system, so he's up for grabs. And I don't trust a Ri-- _urp_ \---ck without a stutter." 

Mustache Rick's cheeks erupted in a frustrated red blush. "I...fuck you!" 

"It is w-weird," Amputee Rick whispered from the back of his hand to the armed Rick with the jagged scar cutting across his face. 

Four other portals stretched into existence, the room was now absolutely blaring in lime green light. 

"R-948, を-862,Φ-7.589, and K-55¾. S-Stand down." Diagonal Scar Rick spoke into an object similar to a walky-talky. "Two traids here already. Over."  

"Don't make me start killing Ricks." Rick spoke up, leveling his blaster on his knees and sweeping his eyes across the six alternate versions of himself. He looked like a mouse backed into a corner by a gang of alley cats. The gun shook within his trembling hands."J-Just so you know, I will." 

Three of the new portals closed. Three more Ricks walked out of the remaining one, only to take one blank look at the scene and turn on their heels immediately in an unspoken 'Nope'.

"So will I," Mustache Rick leveled his own blaster. "Us Ricks have a system, a spectrum of Ricks from good to evil, and you last three might even fall off what evil we can put up with. You're scraping the bottom of the barrel here, Brown-Hair Rick. So maybe, we'll just have to get _rid_ of the last three." 

He pulled the trigger, but not before Amputee Rick knocked his firing arm and the drywall about a foot to Rick's right exploded into powdery white. Bubblegum and Amputee tackled Mustache, and Bubblegum Rick fired the portal gun and created another gooey green hole. 

"We. _Don't_. Kill them!" Bubblegum Rick pinned him down. "I-I-I'll have to have this written up, this time the memo is going to go to not just Riq IV, I'm talkin' the whole council, 'Stache. E-Even Ricktiminus Sancheziminius." 

" _No!_ You two are the crazy ones! You see it right here, he's the third worst Rick we have!" Mustache Rick pointed desperately at the clipboard. "He's not going to join us, we have to-" 

The five of them shoved him into the portal, identical fed up pouts on his traid's partners faces.

"Shit, man. I-I hate that fucking guy," Amputee Rick hiked his thumb over his shoulder at the pulsing portal. "Wh-Why'd we have to be paired up with him, of all the Ricks?" 

Bubblegum Rick's pink gum popped audibly. "S-Seriously."  

"I am _not_ loo-losing my privileges for this shit," Cyclops Rick hiked his thumb over his shoulder at his own portal. "Let's get-- _urp_ \--- outta here, boys." The three of them disappeared back through their portal, which closed around them right afterwards.

Rick still held his blaster in shaking hands, and he now had a thick dusting of drywall in his hair and on his shoulders. "If this is a game of good cop bad cop, you're all _reallly_ bad actors."

"We're not." Bubblegum said. He looked at Rick, and he must have been closer to him on this "scale" because the two seemed to understand each other very well. 

"W-Well, don't come into this universe trying to recruit me again." Rick coughed, and a bit of drywall puffed up from his chest. "I'm **not** interested." 

"We'll figure some other shit out first. We have to put a lot of rules in place, because you're right, we do hate each other." Amputee said. "I kinda wish I hadn't even joined, either. Y-You think the voices in your head are mean to _yourself_ , try putting them out to be real sound waves." He itched at his little nub of an arm. "A different recruitment triad will probably come for you in a few months. You're on your own for w-w-what to do from there." 

"Th-This damn council is just as efficient as I _think_ it'll be, then, huh?" Rick raised an eyebrow.

Bubblegum shrugged. "Pretty much. C'mon, Amputee, I'm bored with this now. W-We'll just mark this one as rouge." 

"F-Fine with me." 

"Lets get out of here. It smells."

And just like that,  Rick coughed up more drywall powder, then crawled out of bed to get the healing spray that he kept under his bed.

Rick gently took the sock away from Stan's arm and began to spray the wound with the can. His skin kneaded closed right before his eyes, blemish less, like the nasty gash was never even was there in the first place. Stan very slowly came to, his head lolling as he blinked his out of focus eyes. The two of them met each other's eyes, both smeared in drywall powder and looking extremely ill and pale-faced.

"Damn." Stan croaked, wiping powder off of his face and he kneaded at the muscles in his newly healed arm. "What the _hell_ happened while I was out?" 

Rick sighed and bent over to tuck the spray back under his bed. 

 "The King of Bad Ideas," Rick replied, annoyed. "There's no way in hell I'm getting sucked up into _that_ disaster."  He brushed at his clothes, but realized it was completely futile as the powder was everywhere. There was a pause as Stan just kept kneading at his arm, and Rick realized Stan had caught him lying about the healing spray being in his Lab. Stan quirked up an eyebrow in an unspoken question.

"D-Don't ask why I keep this under my bed," Rick said softly, meeting his eyes. "I'm...dealing with it. On my own." 

The whole room was coated in white powder, and chunks had fallen out of the wall and many were on the bed covers. Rick gave him a pitiful look, his lower lip jutting out. Tears shone in his eyes, and powder was perched in his hair, on his shoulders, smeared everywhere. 

" _Hey_ ," Stan began, softly, like you would speak to a cowering dog. "Look, I _volunteered_ for you to hurt me. That guy was an asshole saying that whole thing about you being evil, it's not worth thinking about."

Rick was silent, avoiding his eyes now. Stan sat next to him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, and Rick yielded very easily to the side hug and he rested his head on his shoulder, exhausted. 

"Is your head any better?" Stan asked, pumping his hand up and down Rick's arm like he was trying to warm him up. Rick stared blankly for a second, blinked very slowly and then shook his head. He hid his face away in Stan's neck, his breath fever-hot against his collarbones. Stan cupped his large palm over his hair for a second, his chest jumping with a laugh. 

"For how tough you act, you're a gigantic fucking baby."  Stan teased him weakly, and Rick groaned irritably into one of his pectorals. Stan just sat with him for a second more, smudging his thumb in arcs along his shoulder. 

"Maybe I'm the third worst Stan, too." Stan cleared his throat and spoke up after a moment. 

"Shuddup," Rick grumbled.

"No, I'm really serious. I feel like I could be." Stan shrugged, which bounced Rick's head. "It would explain why we get along. Ugh, This is such a mess," Stan sighed, looking at the powdery white over everything and their demolished wall. "It's gonna take **days** to clean all this shit up." 

" _Annnd_ you lost it," Rick mumbled into his shirt. "Y-you had a real smart streak going there for a bit, Brawns." 

 Stanley looked down at him and set his mouth in a line, waiting for him to explain. 

"I'm seeing a _hivemind_? Remember?" Rick smirked weakly. "And it said it'd have even more people next time? This ring a bell?" 

Stan playfully pushed him off of his shoulder. "Last time I try to give you some comfort, if you're gonna be such an ass." 

Rick flopped back onto the bed, jerked uncomfortably at the piece of drywall he'd landed on and tossed it to the floor, then eased down once again. "Bring me the phone?" 

"The cord's not gonna reach that far," Stan chuckled, still kneading at his arm when he stumbled into the kitchen. He knew he needed water in his system right away after blood loss like that. He realized he never even put away his groceries. But that was life with Rick--passing out from blood loss, meeting a few hostile alternate versions of your roommate, and then continuing life like normal just minutes later. 

" _Uggghhh_ ," Rick groaned, turning over dramatically and continuing to groan face-first into his blankets. 

"Rick, that stuff can't be healthy to breathe in. Get away from that mess," Stan said wearily, feeling like a scolding mother telling their kid not to eat dirt. Rick, still facedown, gave him the middle finger. 

"So...." Stan began, hunched over the fridge to put away more of the groceries. The whole time, he was thinking his next words over and over in his head very carefully. He finally closed the fridge again with a faint suctioning sound and turned back to face Rick. "I..uh...know you didn't want me to bring this up, but I, first of all I don't want to be accusatory, but...why was that healing stuff....hang on, let me start over." 

Rick looked over at him, and white powder was all over his face, and a minuscule chuck of drywall was imbedded in his cheek. "Look, I said don't worry about it, okay?" 

"....Are you hurting yourself, Rick?" Stan asked softly, filling up a cup of water from the tap. 

"I'm fine." Rick bit his lip. "I-I said I'm dealing with it." 

Stan stared at him for another second and chewed on his lower lip, seeing if he could tell if he was lying or not. He was able to understand some of the more basic things about Rick by now. He was pretty sure he wasn't lying, but Stan filed it in the back of his head as yet another thing he needed to look out for. "...Okay, Rick." Stan replied finally, then as a kind of apology attempted to stretch the phone over to him from where it hung up on the wall to the left of the kitchen's entrance. 

The coiled chord was nearly stretched flat, but it managed to reach. Rick gave him a shit-eating grin, and Stan realized he'd probably been able to calculate the distance, even taking into account the coils, all in his head. It was so easy to forget about his actual brainpower sometimes. 

"Yeah, yeah." Stan complained in a grumble.

"You lo-love me," Rick shot back, picking at the numbers on the keypad.  

Stan sat back on the couch, took a long sip of his water, then rested his eyes and trying to wrap his mind around everything that had just happened. This lifestyle of Rick's was too much for his head to handle sometimes, and it took a while to digest it.

"Hey, Yoon." Rick spoke very softly into the phone, cupping the receiver to his mouth. "Want to come over? I-I...uh...I want to see you. I've had a, uh,.... _haha_ , r-rough day."

*   *   *

 Stan couldn't remember the cramped apartment being this clean since he'd moved in, even though Rick kept it tidy, this was some kind of deep clean. Unity now had six ginger members--doubling in size--and all of them were working away at the mess, the vacuum roared, someone was rubbing the window clean with Windex, two helped tilt the couch while one of the original twin girls, the one with bangs, vacuumed underneath it. Rick was laying down with his head in the lap of the tall, ginger guy from the original trio on his stripped bed as the last person was running a load on laundry for him and bleaching out Stan's bloodstain. The guy was gently rubbing Rick's temples and he held him there in his lap, and Rick had a dopey smile on his face.

"W-What are you going to do next, fan me with leaves and f-feed me grapes?" Rick joked, and the guy chuckled as he looked down at him.

"Nobody's ever spoiled you like this, huh?" Unity asked, clearly proud of itself, continuing to rub Rick's temples in soft circles with its thumbs.

"I've never dated anyone with more than one body," Rick replied, keeping his eyes closed and enjoying it. "This is the bomb. I-I think I love you."   

"You think you do _now_ , wait until you see what I have in store for you tonight." Unity said under its breath.

Rick rolled his r's in an excited purr. "Now th-that's what I like to hear, you kinky sons-and-daughters of a bitch." 

"Your correct use of pronouns is really turning me on," Unity leaned over Rick in his lap, grinning brightly. Unity chuckled and closed the gap between them, pressing its lips briefly to Rick's upside-down ones with a quiet pucker before straightening back up and continuing to coddle Rick with his forehead massage. Rick settled back into his lap comfortably, the incredibly dopey smile returning to his face.

"God, you're really milking this being pampered thing, huh?" Stan teased when he sat back down on the couch after they'd cleaned under it, where he rested with an icepack on the back of his neck. It had been a long time since he'd donated (well, actually _sold_ ) blood, but he remembered this one trick to help him feel less queasy. 

"F-f-fuck off." Rick's blissful intonation didn't match his words whatsoever. He looked back up at the ginger guy rubbing his head. " _Ahhhh_ , Yoon...never stop." 

"You know, you're welcome to join us tonight, Stanley." The nearby ginger twin girl piped up, taking a break from wiping down the coffee table. 

Stan chuckled. "I've done some crazy shit since Rick's moved in, but I think I gotta draw a line in the sand somewhere." 

"Your loss." Rick said. "Unity here fucks like a professional." 

"... _Rick!_ " Unity gasped and pretended to be scandalized, then all of them scattered throughout the room giggled at once. Stan could basically see the pink hearts floating up out of Rick's head that was still being massaged. 

 _Not happening._ Stan closed his eyes and pressed the ice pack more firmly to his neck. He had to admit, seeing the whole hivemind thing playing out was pretty damn cool. _But this is not happening. Not tonight, not ever_. 

Well, he _did_ drink an alien embryo's secretions. This couldn't get crazier than that. And it was all human bodies, right?

Rick must have seen him thinking. He pulled away from Unity and stood up, coming up to Stan and poking him on the arm. 

"Oh, nooooo no." Stan squinted irritably at him. "Rick, no." 

"Rick _yes_." Rick smirked, curling his fingers around his shoulder. "Y-You're thinking about it, aren't you?" 

"No." Stan barked. " _Rick_." 

"Yuuup, Stan's _\--urp--_ in." Rick announced, letting go and facing the other people in the apartment and threw his arms up over his head. "Who's ready for shots, let's get this thing fuckin' _started!_ " 

Secretly, Rick tried as hard as he could to ignore the thought that this pain might be looking a little more chronic in nature- and he didn't want to think about how it was only a matter of time before this Council started getting a lot more organized, and would come for him with more than just a power-hungry mustachioed version of himself and a few poorly organized triads.

He could just tell Stan was badly worrying about it too. Rick wanted to have a killer night, because he had no idea how much time he had left to live his life like normal before he'd need to make more grandiose moves to conceal himself from this Council that was going to grow very sophisticated, very fast. Rick hated many things across the board, but numbered days were one of the worst. 

Stan glanced at him, looking irked that he was trying to drag him into his schemes once again, but there was something underneath that too. Deep concern. Rick tried to shrug it off, it was insane how easily the two could understand each other without even saying a word. It would _hurt_ , Rick knew this already. It was really going to sting when he'd have to leave him. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grey-blue hair is _very_ punk rock, okay?!

Rick was honestly going to be the death of him someday, Stan thought. He really believed that, too. 

He had no idea what time it was, but he was guessing it was early just by the way the atmosphere felt around him and the dim, murky light that came in through the bay window. One of the original ginger twins was sleeping soundly against Stan's side tucked under his arm. Another girl, one of Unity's newer members, with her brownish-copper hair in one braid down her back had her legs entangled in his and was sleeping with one hand draped over his bare chest. Stan's hangover still hadn't hit, and he had a sneaking suspicion he was still a bit buzzed. 

Rick was sandwiched in an impressive quadruple spoon, the copper-haired original boy from the night at the party was latched onto a different new member, a guy with an red man-bun and pierced up ears, who held Rick from behind while Rick cuddled up the other one of the identical twin girls, the one with the widow's peak. The last two people slept nearby together, a very tall girl who could have been a model with hair that was dyed a very bright, unnatural red and the newest edition they'd stolen off the street last night, a geeky-looking guy with hair so brightly orange it seemed like it could have been fake, thick black glasses and a galaxy of orange freckles everywhere.

Stan could barely recall everything that had happened last night. He remembered pounding back shots in the tiny kitchen, chatting it up with Unity's girls about surprisingly non-alien stuff. Rick somehow actually managed to play a few songs on his guitar even while in the process of getting very wasted, and they'd gathered around him with his acoustic on the ratty couch for a few of his songs. Stan was surprised at how _good_ he was-- but then again he wasn't surprised, when he really thought about it. He knew Rick probably spoke dozens of languages, it seemed like he was speaking in a new one each time he'd use their phone. Learning an instrument must have been a cakewalk. Watching him play was mesmerizing, he was one of those musicians that was so good it seemed like his fingers would never fumble or make a sour note as he held his hand perched on the neck of the guitar. 

Things got even blurrier from there. They'd somehow wound up at a large home goods store after Unity had preyed on yet another ginger person alone on the street and had graphically thrown up into their mouth, just so he could be their designated driver.

Stan shuddered slightly. He could have gone without knowing exactly _how_ Unity added people to the hive.

So, with one sober person in the group, he'd remembered that Unity had driven them all in a van that Stan had somehow managed to break into and hot-wire, it was muscle memory after having done the whole stolen car thing for a few years. It was a VW van, he knew that for sure. Couldn't recall the color for the life of him.

They'd tried to buy a whole bunch of blankets and pillows for the living room, and Rick said he'd just store it all in his Lab so whenever Unity came over next they'd already have it to transform the entire living room into a goddamn sex den.

Stan ran his hand down his face, and breathed out a sigh. Give Rick an inch, he'll take a light-year.

He vaguely remembered having to go to a second store to buy the rest of the supplies because Rick was caught drunkenly fooling around on one of the display beds with two (or three) of Unity's assimilates. They'd finally bought enough blankets and pillows by then, this whole ordeal had taken much, much longer than it really should have. They'd then had the newest member drive them home, he was guessing around three am but he couldn't be sure--damn, he really couldn't remember shit about the car ride home or how they'd even found the van again.

Unity had set up the entire living room with blankets and pillows everywhere, like kids building a gigantic fort; while Stan, Rick, and the original trio smoked pot in Stan's room. They'd blown smoke out of the window for the first couple puffs, Stan remembered, and then completely forgot to after that. They'd gotten to lazy to keep walking over there, and had just all sat around on Stan's twin bed. His room probably reeked of pot right about now. 

Stan could barely remember anything after they'd passed the joint around in a circle and all crammed to sit on his bed. When they were nice and stoned, Rick cracked open a glow stick into some dish soap and they blew glowing, neon green bubbles all around the bedroom. That had been pretty neat, but scratch that, because his room probably reeked of pot _and_ dish soap right about now.

Somehow, he'd wound up out here in the living room where every inch was covered in blankets or pillows and was nearly unrecognizable. Stan, even in such a different state of mind, still hadn't felt right about actually having sex with any of Unity's members--he felt an uncomfortable non-consensual vibe from the idea, since the people still really felt like unwilling puppets, but he tried not to think too much about that.

He'd enjoyed a few hickies sucked into his neck, collarbones and chest, but he remembered shutting it down when Unity had tried sticking a hand down his pants. But he couldn't complain about what had gone down. It was more action than he'd gotten in... well, he hadn't even _kissed_ anybody since Carla. The two girls were sleeping by his side now, and he'd been too distracted to notice whatever the hell Rick was doing next to him. That was a good thing, because the empty can of whipped cream rolling around by his feet and the leaking honey bottle spreading an oozing puddle above Rick's slumbering head told him some weird shit had gone down.

Aw, fuck.

He also remembered Unity ranting for a few minutes about the night being "all about love", and it had tried _very_ hard to convince Rick and Stan to open up about things.

God, Stan realized now how absolutely out of his mind he'd been. He told Rick all those dumb thoughts he always kept to himself-- he told him he thought the way he held his joints when he smoked was just _so cool,_ or he secretly thought it was amazing that his brain could calculate all sorts of things like it was a supercomputer, or how he wished Rick didn't hate himself so much. Stan also said he'd liked his hair, how it swished up in the back of his head like that and how it stuck up because it was so thick, he liked that it was brown. He didn't really like any of those other Ricks who had climbed through those portals. He'd even told him about how he could tell when he met him that he was like his brother because of his eyes. 

Rick didn't have a filter either. They'd never seen one another like that before, at the same time. Well, both had been out of their minds when they'd tripped out on that alien soda, but they'd been so inebriated by that they had barely acknowledged one another. And usually, Rick was the one drunk off his ass and Stan would be grumpy from being woken up in the dead of night.

They'd hugged and Rick had sobbed into his arms about how Stan had saved his life with the syringe test, and 'what kind of person just lets someone else slice them up like that, you're a real hero' but of course he was almost incomprehensible with all the usual belches and stammers, mixed with one hell of a alcoholic slur.

They'd definitely said some sappy, stupid shit to one another, taking turns with it.

Rick said he felt he felt safe around Stan, which wasn't something he'd had in a long time. He said he thought Stan looked badass a lot of the time, with his black eyes and his brass knuckles. He wanted him to come to a Flesh Curtains show soon. He'd look great in a leather jacket. Rick said he'd had no idea Stan's personality would have been like this, just judging a book by it's cover, but he was glad for that. Rick knew he was selfish most of the time, and he said he had no idea how Stan could be so selfless. Stan was a bit overwhelmed by the exchange of compliments--he had no idea Rick thought all these things about him.

Stan thinks maybe they'd smooched in the heat of the moment but he wasn't sure.

Wait.... yes, they had.

And it might have gotten sort of frenchy somewhere along the line, too.

 _Dammit_.

He remembered it had been all salty and kind of snotty from their tears, he'd wrapped Rick up tight in his arms, laid back, and just let the drunken kiss happen. The memory was fuzzy at best, but he knew Rick had been on top of him, sitting on his stomach and arched over him, holding the sides of his face and pressing their lips together. Every one of Unity's assimilated members had been cheering them on, and the room full of cheers sort of inflated his ego. Shit, so _that_ was when Stan had flipped Rick to be on his back and a little bit of tongue action had started.

Well, the good news was if _he_ barely remembered it, than Rick would probably remember even less of it. No big deal. Maybe Rick's memory had even been blanked out, it wasn't like it was a big deal to kiss your roommate. Or anything. Besides, it had only happened once. Once, they could let that slide.   

Okay, nope. Stan remembered now. 

Okay, so _maybe_  it had been more than once.

Why did they have to play stupid spin the bottle? Unity was kissing itself on almost every spin, anyway! God, Unity being able to create a charged atmosphere with a room full of cheers and whoops was severely underrated. When he was drunk, it gave Stan the confidence to do almost anything. 

"C'mere, you skinny-ass punk." Stan remembered saying, he'd knocked the empty bottle pointing at Rick out of the way and reached across the circle to grab him by the scruff of his shirt, and mashed their lips together for the second time. And _crap_ , that one had sort of drawn out too, he remembered laying in the clearing in the middle of the spin the bottle circle, cheers all around, while Rick licked across the inside of his teeth and sort of began to grind down on his-- 

Okay. Two times. **Only** two times. They could still let that slide. 

Stan couldn't believe Rick had coerced him to participate in a damn _orgy_. He really couldn't believe he, Stanley Pines, had agreed to it. And the worst part was he'd actually had a kind of a great time.

Stan needed a goddamn glass of water.

"Hmmm," Rick hummed from a few feet away, as Unity began to plant a few kisses on his shoulder and neck. "W-Wild night, huh?" 

"Great night," Unity murmured back, each member stirring slightly. The two surrounding Stan snuggled in closer, pressing a few kisses here and there. Rick's little spoon peppered kisses along Rick's chest and tummy, as man-bun big-spoon sucked soft kisses along his upper back and shoulders. 

" _Oh--!_ Kayyy..." Rick threw his head back in a laugh after his body had tensed up. "S-Sorry, I'm just tender." 

"You single-minds are so damn _cute_ ," Unity took out the finger it had slipped playfully in Rick's ass. "It kind of just blows my mind that there's just one of you. It's so cool. I know you don't like this word being used on humans, but you are really fascinating."

"I don't like it when _strangers_ say it," Rick corrected them, letting the people sandwiching him do their thing in languid bliss. He let his eyes fall closed as he kept talking lazily. " 'Cuz I know they're being patronizing. Humans don't impress much of anyone in the galaxy, I know that. I know that you mean it, though, it's fine this way, Yoon." Rick paused for a second, running the tip of his tongue over his lips. "I..I kind of feel the same way about you." 

"Good," Unity hugged him a bit closer from both sides. The twin snuggled her cheek up to his flat tummy. "I like being on the same page with you, Rick." 

"Yeah. Me too." Rick murmured sleepily, carding his hand through her long copper strands.  

At this point, Stan was pretending to fall back asleep. He knew Rick thought he was still sleeping, and he felt rude intruding on this. Unity was so amazingly honest, and that seemed to rub off on Rick too. Stan knew Rick usually thought of honesty as vulnerability--well, he was guilty of feeling the same way about that, too. 

"Do most hiveminds go for single minds?" Rick asked after a stretched out, lazy beat between them. One of the women on Stan's side began tracing her finger on Stan's chest. 

"Not at all," Unity answered in slightly more than a whisper. "Most go for other members of my own species. I don't know what it is, I never saw the appeal of hiveminds, even though I pretended I did for a long while when I was younger. I'm, well, kind of the hivemind version of queer." 

"Ugggh, w-why are you actually perfect for me?" Rick threw his head back in a chuckle. 

"What makes you say that?"

"What do you think I am, _straight?_ " Rick laughed. "Me. A Straight." 

"Nah, you take it up the ass way too well." The guy teased back, rubbing his nose along Rick's nape of his neck and then planting a small kiss there.

"You're always buttering me up too much," Rick grumbled. "I'm gonna get too _soft_ if you keep doing this. This asshole exterior took a long time to build up, you know." 

"You think you act like an asshole but everyone at that party couldn't get enough of you." Unity replied, chuckling. "People _like_ you, Rick." 

" _Blehhh_." Rick stuck his tongue out. "Deep down I know you're right and I secretly hate that." 

"I know," Unity whispered back, and then the blankets rustled as the separate two members--sober driver and model--stood up and padded into the kitchenette. "I'm making breakfast." 

"Y-You're totally ruining me _ever_ being satisfied in any kind of single-mind relationship, you know that right?" Rick teased. 

"I'm doing it on purpose. Shhh!" Unity shot back playfully, and pulled him into even tighter cuddles, three people squishing up close to him now, two of them the originals from the first night they'd met. Rick chuckled sleepily in his dog pile, still keeping his eyes shut as he not-so secretly reveled in it. 

Stan still pretended to be asleep, and he also pretended very hard like he wasn't feeling that weird pang of jealousy, either.

 

*   *   *

 "We're going out shopping, not going to a fuckin' mosh pit." Stan laughed, indicating up and down at Rick's ridiculously dark-colored, ripped, and skin-tight outfit with most of his stomach showing from his crop top with the armpits cut down low too, and his big combat boots with the tongues pulled out loose. 

"W-W-Whatever. _Pssh_." Rick ran his fingers through his unruly hair and set his mouth in a line. 

"It's freezing outside, too! What the hell," Stan had to laugh, plucking at Rick's shirt and letting it fall back again. He unlocked the front door once again and pointed inside. "Go change. Or at least grab a coat, damn." 

"I took some uppers, so I-I'm _fiiiine_ , stop babying me!" 

"Rick."

Rick must have realized he was right, because he flipped him off and slipped back inside, re-emerging with a thick brown coat. He shrugged, a defiant "happy?" and Stan gave him a very smug, brotherly smile, the kind that would usually end in a mother prying two screaming kids apart. 

"F-fuck you, buddy." Rick shot back, following Stan and the two of them fell into step together. 

"Are you really sure you want to go through with it?" Stan asked, knocking Rick's shoulder with his. "Just because all those other Ricks have greyed already doesn't mean you have to. Honestly, I think they were kinda jealous you haven't yet."

"Meh, it'll at least...throw them off a bit, at-at first glance they won't know I'm the rogue. It might buy me a bit of time, y'know." Rick shrugged, burrowing his hands in his pockets and shivering slightly. 

" _Ha!_ I knew you really do get cold." Stan blurted, smirking and pawing at his shoulder. 

"Shuuud-dup." Rick rolled his eyes back at him. 

"You really are going to do it, then? Dye it grey?" Stan picked back up on it. He was a bit sour to the idea, since his Rick was brown-haired and he couldn't imagine him looking any other way, all those other Ricks had really left a bad taste in his mouth. He wasn't really stoked on the idea that his dimension's Rick would look more like them soon. 

"If it looks like shit I can always dye it back," Rick shrugged again. "Maybe it'll be more punk rock this way." 

"Yeah, maybe." Stan agreed, even though he definitely disagreed. There was a slight lull in the conversation. 

"You know, that orgy wasn't...ehem...wasn't, uh, half bad." Stan admitted, coughing into his fist. He pulled a cig from the pack in his back pocket and lit it up.

"I _KNEW_  it!" Rick squawked out a laugh, his eyes wide and laughing. "I soooo called that. Well, I guess me and Unity are officially, _ehheeeeem, hrrrr, uh_...d-dating so they'll be around." Rick reached over, plucked the cigarette straight out of Stan's fingers, took a long suck, and then put it back in between the crook of his fingers without saying a word. He puffed out the smoke from his nostrils, the twin plumes carrying away in the chilly air. Stan snorted and brought his hand to his mouth to take another drag. 

"...We. Um. Kissed, you know." Stan said nervously, smoke tumbling out from his lips. "Last night. Kinda weird, right?" 

" _Duh_ , I know." Rick replied, looking away and grabbing his elbows to hug himself. "Look, me and Birdperson do that kind of thing all the time. But you didn't hear that from me. Squanch would get _reeeal_ jealous. I tried it once with him and I think I'm allergic to the dander being all up in this," Rick vaguely circled around his mouth and nose. "Soooo, I can't anymore. For some reason, the feathers aren't as bad." 

"So, you make out with BP all the time?" Stan snorted. 

"I never said _make out_ , damn." Rick replied. "It's a guitarist thing. Kind of. Ehhh, it's my thing I guess. It doesn't mean shit other than you're my friend, real good friend, and we're cool." 

"So, we're cool?" Stan smiled softly at him, his nerves melting away. He was feeling better already, if Rick said he did it all the time with his birdly best friend.

"Yeah." Rick stole his cigarette right from his hand again, and Stan scoffed but made no move to take it back. "Don't worry about it. We're cool." 

"Good." Stan replied curtly. He breathed the cigarette in deep, smoking in the sigh. _I think you're the best friend I've ever had that wasn't family,_ Stan thought about saying, but held his tongue. He really didn't want to lose their friendship. God, he loved spending time with Rick, and if things got messy and ended, he'd hate himself for ruining the one good thing he had right now.

*   *   *

Stan propped his shoulder up on their tiny bathroom's doorframe as he watched Rick hunched over with his head in the sink and the loud hush of water streaming from the tap filled the air. "Wh-Why are you watching me?" Rick scrubbed at his head, frothy bubbles floating down into the sink. 

"I dunno. I don't have anything better to do," Stan laughed. "This is gonna look weird."

"Yeah, you're tellin' me." Rick said, letting the water run over his head. He had a towel over his shoulders. "Okay, I'm calling it. Get out until I'm done, _then_ I'll show you." Rick chuckled, rubbing his gloved hands through his matted down hair. 

Thinking about why Rick was doing this caused Stan to grow uneasy, and it showed on his face. He pinched his eyes together, like he was looking at something bright. Maybe it was a Pavlovian thing, but thinking about those other Ricks reminded him of the pain again. "They can't force you to join, Rick, you can find some way out of that stupid council." He said, mainly to reassure himself. "Right?" 

"Wha...oh, uh, y-yeah. Right." Rick replied, not being able to meet Stan's eyes. "Now get--scram." 

When Rick finally emerged from the bathroom, scrubbing at his wet locks with the towel he'd thrown over his shoulders, he didn't look so happy either and he chewed on the inside of his cheek when he looked to Stan to see what he was going to say. 

"It looks..." Stan fiddled nervously with his sleeve. "Uh, different." 

"Y-Yu-You think I got the color right?" 

"Yeah, definitely. You look just like them." Stan said, and instantly wished he hadn't. He parted his lips to say he didn't mean it, but Rick beat him to it. 

"I really do, huh?" Rick said quietly, he bit at the inside of his cheek again, a frown on his face with his lower lip jutting out. He rubbed the back of his head with the towel once again, a few wet droplets swelled and dripped off the ends of the now blueish-grey of his hair. Without another word, he came and joined Stan on the couch, sitting right next to him. Stan lay a gentle hand on his hunched back. 

"I didn't mean it like... like that." Stan said. "I know you're not those assholes." 

"Yeah," Rick replied, hugging onto his skinny arms. "It's just _hair_. It's just stupid fucking hair and I'm being a teenage girl." 

"You wanna rip a couple bowls?" Stan leaned forward to poke at the bowl to their glass pipe, full of black clumps turned whitish-grey in the middle, which was most definitely all ash. 

" _Fuuuuuck_ yes," Rick let the towel hang on his shoulders once again, maybe if he stopped rubbing it over his head he could try and stop thinking about his new hairstyle. "Hand me that shit." 

 They passed their pipe back and forth until Rick had had so much that he just fell asleep right there on the couch, drool coming from his opened mouth as he slept sitting up with his head tipped back onto the backrest. Even though Stan was so high he felt like there was a fuzzy layer between the air and his body that was ambiguous whether on not it was a part of him, the room was soft a hazy dream, and he was very, very floaty, he still managed to take off Rick's stupid shoes when he dragged him to bed.

"Stan, _Stan_ , my man..." Rick babbled, chuckling at himself, and rolled into his bed and tangled his legs up into the sheets. "My roommate's the shit, buh-better believe it, _maaan_ , c-cuz-- Stan's the man." 

"Amazing. Beautiful." Stan was lethally sarcastic as he tugged off Rick's second shoe and let it tumble with a clunk to the floor. He let go of his ankle and Rick's leg fell heavily back to the mattress with a bounce. "That's some _reeeal_ song material right there. How do you do it?" 

Rick grumbled something indecipherable and hugged into his pillow, shoving his face against it hard so that it squished part of his face up against his eye. He peeked at Stan with his other eye, just barely opened. "Get on in here, _Staaaaanley_." His tone taunted, he smiled oafishly and patted at the empty space next to him on the bed. "No big deal. Nooo biggie. Not like we haven't done it before, right?" 

Stan hesitated, suddenly sobering up a little more. He stood stock-still, his eyes flicking nervously from the empty space on the bed to Rick's face. They'd said when they'd kissed it didn't mean anything, right? It was just a bit of drunk shenanigans. And he knew he shouldn't, but he kind of wanted to do it, just get in. He'd be warm, if he crawled up into bed with him right now. Crap, since when was something like this actually _tempting?_  

"Rick, we're-- we're friends." Stan stammered. If this whole thing he had going with Rick was ruined, he'd never forgive himself. He needed a friend in his life right now. "Right? We're cool. You said earlier that we were cool." 

Rick's goofball, high expression fell into something a lot more blank. "Yeah. I-I was just-" Rick hesitated. He seemed to give up and just buried his face into his pillow. "I was just kidding around, Stan." His words came out muffled.

"Good," Stan said, but for some reason, those words felt like he didn't really mean them. He crossed his fingers behind his back, just in case, to ward off any jinx he felt might have been there. " _Ehem_. Yeah. Well, g'night, Rick." 

And Stan climbed into his bed, staring up in the dark at a water spot on his ceiling for a little while, unable to sleep. And then he stared at his hands, crossing and un-crossing his fingers for a little while more, before he finally sank onto his side and fell asleep. He was a little cold under his blanket, but he tried not to think about what could have been warmer.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan gets interrogated by a lump of eyes, and Rick makes out with a cat.

"E..Q..X.." Stan muttered each letter under his breath as he transcribed the glowing neon blue into written black ink on the yellow lined notepad under his wrist. He rubbed his forehead again, it ached from all the squinting he was doing. It was hard enough to see the letters in a black light, plus his world was getting even blurrier lately. He was pretending it didn't bother him, even though he was getting frequent headaches now especially with so much looking at tiny letters.

Rick slumbered soundly after a night of heavy drinking by his side in his twin bed, sleeping flat on his stomach with his arms bent up at angles near his head. The white sheets were darker where a bit of his drool pooled by his mouth. The lamp cast a warm yellow glow over the hundreds of folds in the thick covers Rick had buried himself in now that the frosted window an arms length away would eat away some of the warmth, and there was no sound but the faint rattle of their outdated heater working overtime.

Stan would never admit to it, but nights like these were his favorites. He'd always been more of a night owl, but usually those hours were spent away from home out in filthy streets or seedy bar basements, and he wouldn't get to have that cozy settled-in-for-the-night feeling very often, as he'd typically stumble home and pass out right away. Rick was a very quiet, still sleeper, once he snuggled down into one position he'd usually stay just like that.

There was something oddly comforting to Stan about him being unconscious, he wasn't in any pain then. Rick's headaches from the council from alternate dimensions still lingered, and Stan knew Rick was taking pain meds throughout the day for them. It twisted up the muscles in his face so slightly that most people failed to notice he was going through near constant pain--not Stan.

Stan woke up to a puddle of lukewarm drool, and something sharp-smelling and chemically that was immediately familiar. Marker? Stan groaned and cradled the crick on the back of his neck, massaging the topmost vertebrae and stumbling into the bathroom. A mustache with curled up corners had been drawn above his mouth, and Stan grumbled irritably. 

"I thought you'd had enough of mustaches by now!" Stan turned his head and called out from the bathroom door, then put a few pumps of lotion into his palm to start to scrub it off. 

"Ha _HA!_  Piss off," Rick answered in a holler from the other room. 

 Stan re-emerged into the living room, still rubbing his thumb back and forth along the knob at the back of his neck. "Dude, my neck is killing me."

"Well, duuuh, you need glasses, dumbass. Haven't I told you this before?" Rick lay back on the couch and plucked at a few strings of his unplugged electric guitar, resulting in tinny notes that sounded like they were far away. Stan was still getting used to the new color of his hair. He kept a cigarette burning in his teeth, curls of smoke floating up toward the ceiling.

"I'm not going to be caught dead being a four-eyes." Stan bit on the inside of his cheek. He met Rick's sour look with one of his own. "What, I'm serious!" 

"W-Whatever, Mr. Cool Too Cool for School. You're myopic, yu-you need to get tested." Rick took off the embroidered sash of the guitar and propped it up against the side of the couch. "Lemme take a wild guess. Lots of headaches for no reason? Nausea?" 

"...I'm not getting glasses." Stan crossed his arms. He remembered this exact conversation with his parents after Ford got his shiny new frames, walking around school with his chin low and hair falling over his face hoping that people just wouldn't happen to notice the gigantic square frames that took up most of his face. No way in hell, Stan wasn't going to look like a stupid nerd. He didn't need another reason to be mixed up with his identical twin. 

"Yep, you are. Let's go." Rick got up from the couch and stretched his arms high over his head, yawning, and his washboard stomach stretched into view. Not like Stan was looking, or anything.

Stan kept his arms firmly crossed over his chest and scowled. "Rick, if my parents couldn't even make me go to the Optometrist, I don't think that you--" The next words got sucked out of his throat as he saw a flash of gooey green and felt, for a split second, like the entire universe was giving him one grand, horrible, swirly in the toilet of space and time.

He stood with his hands on his knees, wheezing horribly for air as Rick stood completely unperturbed next to him. They were in some kind of reception area, but one glance and they could tell it wasn't somewhere on Earth. It was white, gleaming, and spotless, and the many-eyed, lumpy and silvery-grey creature behind the desk looked awfully familiar.

"Wooow. Y-You done?" Rick asked insensitively after a moment of Stan's sputters and wheezes.

"You used the portal gun on me??" Stan demanded, finally straightening up and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He tried to smack his lips to get rid of the strange taste. "You didn't even give me any warning! My mouth was _open_ , you fuck!"

Rick ignored him, and walked up to the reception desk instead. Stan let out a frustrated groan and followed him. It was impossible yelling at him, it was like trying to scold a cat as they then completely ignored you and licked their balls instead.

"Oh god." Stan let slip as he saw who was behind the desk: a familiar silvery lump of thousands of eyes. She was preoccupied at the moment, somehow navigating a projected, glowing blue screen solely through the blinks and eye movements of one very large, green-irised eye smack dab in the creature's midsection.

"Paaaat," Rick slurred, sliding his elbows to rest on the desk. Stan was already looking extremely uncomfortable, and because of that a big smile stretched on Rick's face he had a feeling he was going to be toyed with here. "How's my least favorite piece of useless garbage alien doing? Get any pink eye or new pterigiums lately? I hope you did, you miserable pile of shit with eyes, because I reeeaaaally love it when I hear that you're suffering."

As expected, the alien had started to sniffle already. "How's it going, Rick." Her voice was miserable and thick with the tears that were coming on quickly.

"Get me out of this office. I'm not kidding." Stan grunted through his teeth to Rick. "Get. Me. Back to Earth. _Now_."

Rick simply smirked even wider and ignored him yet again.

"I'm hoping for a quick appointment for my pal Stanley here." He hiked his thumb over his shoulder. "And he's only got two eyes, so it should be a quick one."

"I can always find an opening for a good friend," Patricia sniffled. "Just a minute, let me check this hour's schedule."

"Great." Rick rapped his knuckles on the desk. "Picked you up a little bit a somethin-somethin, too." Rick slipped her a small baggie of what looked like fuschia crystals and an eyedropper. 

"Rick!" She replied, clearly excited but also taken aback. Every single one of the eyelids on her eyes had flown wide. "...Not at work!" 

"Just _take_ it," Rick slipped it into the silver skin, which gave as easily as if he were pushing it into clay. Stan's hand clapped over his mouth.

"I'm going to hook you up with something soon, Rick, I mean it." Patricia replied, and Rick smirked. 

"You know what I like. I trust you." 

Stan really wanted to punch that stupid, smug expression off of his face. But before he could even say anything, his name was already being called by Pat the receptionist once again.

"Dr. Graskfpiwhlanrjjakfjhvab will see you now, he's just got off lunch and has about half an hour." Patricia called out to him. "You'll be out of here soon, humans are very easy for him to evaluate."

"Hey Rick, you're coming with me, ri--?" But when Stan turned around, all he saw was the last few seconds of a lime green portal closing up on itself. He shook his head, fuming, but followed the alien's slimy snail-trail as she lead him further into the office.

"One...or two." The slightly bigger pile of eyes asked, and Stan felt like he was a POW being interrogated as the pieces of glass rotated with faint scrapes before his eyes. He didn't see any noticeable differences whatsoever.  

"Uhhh...." Stan felt utterly, utterly alone, abandoned on some foreign place in the universe, dealing with an eyeball monster who kept asking impossible optical questions. "Uh...... _two?_ " 

At least six of the hundreds of eyes rolled dramatically. 

" 'No difference' is an option, you know." The alien optometrist deadpanned.

 _Oh, Thank God._ "Y-Yeah. That." Stan wanted to go home immediately. He was pretty sure he'd have nervous sweat splotching the entire back of his T-shirt by now.

"Great," The alien replied, very unenthused, and with a flick of one of his eyes a holographic screen appeared. Working with a patient with only two eyes must have been mind-numbingly boring for him. "I think we're done here." A couple of eyes worked in tandem, certain motions translating to notes on the hologram in a strange, alien language.

Rick was back in the reception area, and Stan nearly tackled him into a bear hug for actually being there when he was finished. 

"Took you long enough," Rick grumbled. "Here. Pat just fixed these up for you." 

"What? Already?" Rick handed Stan a pair of folded glasses, and he curled his hand around them. The plastic was still warm, like a page that had just finished printing. 

"How is this ready now?" Stan mused aloud, to which Rick just shrugged. 

"Alien technology. Don't question it." Rick replied, then snatched the glasses back, unfolded them and shoved them onto Stan's face for him. "Looks like I picked a good pair, Stanley. Suits you. Have a look-"

Before Stan could even get in a word of protest, he was once again yanked and pulled through the portal. It felt like having a strong wave crash over him, a wave that forms whirlpools in its wake that sucks each limb in a different direction.

"You really have to work on smoothing out that ride." Stan grumbled, and adjusted the frames that had fallen slightly askew. He looked at his bespectacled self in the mirror of their bathroom, and suddenly everything was so clear. He could see the few bits of stubble he'd missed on the tip of his chin. His acne was fucking horrible, as usual, not like he needed a reminder. He could see the rays bursting in different colors on his irises, even from here. 

"Are these some kind of eagle-eye alien glasses?" Stan asked, feeling like they had to be granting him some kind of superpower. He looked through the reflection to a tree outside of the window down the block. It had individual leaves on it.

"Nope. Just regular glasses. Welcome to how _normal_ people see." Rick teased. "You know, you definitely look like a total Ner-" Before he could even finish, Stan had pulled him into a chokehold in his beefy arms.   
  
"Not. A. Word." Stan griped. "Not another damn word, Rick."   
   
"You know, all I ask for is a 'you were right'," Rick smirked. "Let's see how those le-letters look now, right?" 

Stan hesitantly took a seat at his desk and flicked on the black light lamp. Rick leaned up over Stan with his pokey elbows digging into his shoulders. He folded his hands over his hair and rested his chin on top of Stan's head. "Do I get that 'you were right' now?" 

"I can't believe how _easy_ this is," Stan didn't even take a break as he jotted down letter after letter on the adjacent page. "I feel like an idiot."   
  
"You _are_ an idiot, 'Ley," Rick rapped his knuckles upside his head, before finally sliding away from him. "Us two gotta look out for one another." 

Without saying anything, Rick slid a poster for the Flesh Curtains over his card. The black light illuminated the neon used in the poster, and it almost hurt Stan's eyes. With a slight clacking of his bracelets, Rick waved over his shoulder and slammed the front door.

"Huh," Stan took the poster, accidentally drew it closer to his face and squinted before he realized he didn't have to do that to read it anymore.

 _The Flesh Curtains!!!!_ It advertised a time for later that night, with a hand-drawn picture of the three band members. Rick was wearing some kind of leather outfit that revealed more skin than it covered, and Stan chuckled. _Why not?_ Rick had not-to-subtly been trying to get him to come to one of his shows practically since he'd moved in.

The only noise that remained the the apartment was the hurried scratching of Stan's pen, writing more and more rows and rows of his hidden letters. 

*   *   *

The venue was terrible. But then again, maybe that was part of the whole "aesthetic". _Who knows,_ Stan thought with a chuckle. The place had one narrow door painted in Day-Glo, with twisting finger-painted lines. There was  no bouncer, and the one stair up to the door had a green, slimy growth seeping out from the crease in the cement. Three people outside for a smoke break had to huddle in a doorway up to an inn, and they had to keep moving out of the way as someone kept opening it on them. 

Stan nearly pulled the askew door off of its overextended hinges, as he stepped inside. The crowd that had gathered wasn't bursting out of the venue, but it was big enough to be impressive. Stan saw a large cluster of ginger girls all standing next to one another, and didn't find it hard at all to place Unity. He shouldered his way to the front.

"Hey!" Stan shouted over the booming speakers, squealing with guitar shreds. He tapped one of the ginger members on the shoulder. "Unity!" 

The girl turned around, utterly confused. She wrinkled up her nose in an unfriendly, very un-Unity way. "What?!" She barked over the noise. "Who are you? Where am...I?"

"Uh, Unity?" Stan cocked his head to the side. " _Are_ you Unity..?" 

Another girl right next to the first spun around. "Stanley! Hey!" She eyed the girl, a confused expression on her face. "Huh. Didn't notice this one slipped, I must have been too into the music. Just a sec," She said, very politely, before smashing the girl's mouth into what seemed like an aggressive kiss. To the rest of the crowd, they might have barely noticed how Unity actually projectile vomited into it. 

Stan had had the common sense to look away last minute. _Slipped?_ He pondered for a second. Was Unity losing its grasp on its assimilates?

Before Stan could think too much about it, Unity had slugged a few arms over his shoulders in welcoming. In the lull between songs, all of them waved to get Rick's attention before jabbing and pointing at Stan. 

Rick winked at him, then took the guitar pick out from his between his teeth and snatched up the mic. 

"What the **fuck** is up, people?!" He yelled into it, and got an enthusiastic roar in return. Unity gave him a brief noogie. 

"Glad you made it," It said as it ducked in close by his ear. "Rick's ecstatic. You'll like his stuff, I promise." 

"Now, me, Squa _auu_ anchy, and BP are just getting st-started. And I got some brand new shit for those of you who I see here all the damn time. Yeah, I'm lookin' at you, Chaaad. Like c'mon, what, do you live here? Seriously! This kid is always. Fuckin. Here!!" Rick laughed. A bit of sweat shone over his face, but he was all smirks. He was wearing a--- _something_ , if you could even call it a shirt. It showed his entire chest, he'd even dyed his chest hair that same grey-blue as his hair. His black jeans were impossibly tight, like he'd painted them on. 

"But I'm not here for stand up. Here's a new song, about my kickass baby, my kind of boyfriend..." _strummmmm_ "kinda, girlfriend..." _strummmm_ "kinda everything in between, does me dirty then licks me cleeeaaan...."

The crowd cheered at his slight musical lilt, hyped for the next song in the set.

"R-Right?" Rick went back to talking again, lips ever so often just catching on the mic. "You mother fuckers know what I'm talking about, you kinky little fucks." Rick was all rascally smiles, looking right in his element. Stan never really realized how important being up on stage was to him---it was like watching a duck set to water. Stan couldn't take his eyes off of him, he was luminous with happiness. Stan had never seen him like that before. 

"I call this one--- Cluster Fuckin'." Rick finally took one large stomp back from the mic, and gripped onto the neck of his guitar again. Birdperson nodded at him, solemn as ever, and began the bass. The white spotlight dimmed, and everything became bathed in blue and pink.

Unity passed him an unlit joint, and Stan pinched it between two fingers. 

"Do the honors?" It was Stan's (secretly) favorite assimilate, one of the twins from the original trio, the one with the widow's peak. She smiled at him, freckles like a galaxy. Her eyes were almost doe-like with thick lashes, and Stan wondered if she was the younger of the two of them. He'd never dated a twin before, and for some reason he felt like maybe if he did, they'd understand each other a little better. Then, he got a sinking feeling I his stomach when he realized he'd probably never really meet her. She was a just puppet to the hivemind---Stan barely contained his sigh. She held out the light for him, and he tried to think nothing more of it as he took the first couple of puffs as Rick continued to sing very loudly about the nitty-gritty details about one of his orgies with Unity.

After the show had ended, Rick hopped off the stage and made a B-line toward him. Stan hadn't noticed until then that Unity had slipped each member off to somewhere else, he'd been paying too close attention to the music.

 "You actually made it," Rick huffed, swiping at his forehead that was misty with perspiration.

Rick was wearing makeup, was the first thing Stan noticed. Mascara drew his eyelashes upward, pulling them to be longer and darker. He'd used deep black eyeliner to line the top lids, too. It made the whites of his eyes look brighter by contrast, and the long lashes made his eyes look much bigger. Some of the mascara had smudged onto the skin below his eyes, in small V's where his eyelashes had pressed. Stan hated to admit the makeup looked, well, _really_ good on him. He had no idea how he pulled it off so well, even when it was starting to smudge and become a mess like this. 

His bracelets jingled faintly together, and he had sweat on his upper lip where his mouth curled into a rascally grin. He plucked at Stan's coat and let it fall. "Niiiice leather jacket." 

"So. You're coming to the afterparty." Rick hooked his arm within Stan's, and began to shoulder through the dissipating crowd. 

"Uhhh, Rick, listen..." Stan scratched that the unruly hair at the back of his head. "I have an actual _job interview_ tomorrow. Early. I can't stay out, okay?" 

"Y-Yeah. Sure. W-W-Whatever." Rick easily tried to ignore him, as he kept toting him through the crowd. The guitar strapped to his back oscillated slightly, like a metronome. His artificially grey hair stuck out like a sore thumb in the crowd as he made his way through it, pushing through the moving bodies like a fish working its way upstream.

" _Rick_ ," Stan planted his large hand on his shoulder and easily spun him around to face him with just one tug. He sometimes forgot that Rick weighed almost nothing. Rick already looked like he'd had quite a bit to drink, the sparse hairs framing his face were plastered to his forehead, and his eyelids were hanging lower than usual over dry, pink eyes that were pinching shut: no doubt he'd smoked a boatload of weed to calm his nerves before the performance. 

"I can't stay too long to take care of you this time, Rick. I have an interview at nine in the morning. Tomorrow." Stan repeated, still holding onto his shoulder. He squeezed the meat of Rick's shoulder, and lifted an eyebrow. " _Okay?_ " 

"I heard you the damn first time," Rick rolled his slightly pink eyes, but a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I've survived this long w-without you, Pines." He turned back around and took Stan's forearm into his grip, tugging him along impatiently. _And how the hell he did that, God only knows._ Stan just set his jaw, and let himself be toted backstage. He'd have a word in with Unity-- it could be the one to drag his blacked out ass home at the end of the night.

"There's my boyyyyyys," Rick crooned, sauntering up to Birdperson and Squanchy when they got to the cramped back room behind the stage curtains. The two of them were sitting on a lumpy black couch backstage. Without reservation, he crawled into Birdperson's lap, pressed his thumb gently to the bottom of his chin so it guided open his mouth, and then slotted their open mouths together like it was the most casual thing in the world. Stan held his lukewarm beer in his hand and stood as still as a statue, having no idea how to react. 

"Haaahh, those couple extra notes you snuck into that bass line... don't think I didn't notice... but holy fuck, BP." Rick finally pulled apart from his feathered friend and broke the spider-web thin chain of drool that connected their mouths. He rested his forehead onto Birdperson's crest of speckled feathers and cradled the sides of his face in his hands. Birdperson's round nose was in complete contrast to Rick's sharp one, and Rick's poked at his as he bumped their foreheads together. Rick gently smudged his thumb along Birdperson's cheekbones. "Our show tonight was craaaazy good."   
  
"I'll have to agree. The crowd seemed to enjoy it thoroughly." Birdperson replied, completely unbothered by Rick's sloppy kiss or touches. "I'm glad your roommate was able to attend." 

Rick had seemed to forget that Stan was backstage with them this time. "Ohhhh, yeah!!! _Lee!!!_ " Rick looked over to where Stan was awkwardly standing close to the wrinkled, draping curtains with a firm grip on his beer. "Come on over here, champ." He patted on the seat next to him on the ratty couch, between him and a yellow, bedraggled-looking cat-like creature who was sourly hanging over the arm rest. 

"You never squanch _me_ like that." The third bandmate griped. 

"Your dander really messes me up, but I don't even care tonight." Rick scooped up the alien exactly like he would a cat, and Squanchy couldn't help but let out a raspy purr. 

"Ha, ha, made you purr." Rick teased lightheartedly, grinning and rubbing his pointy nose with the alien's, before pulling forward and pressing a kiss over his closed mouth. The alien finally let his mouth hang open just slightly, and Rick was already pressing his tongue inside, prodding especially at the very sharp feline fangs. 

"Oh my god," Stan visored his eyes. "I am not about to watch Rick make out with a _cat_." 

"Hey, Rick." 

Stan heard an unfamiliar voice, but could tell that it was most likely from a member of Unity that he hadn't met just yet. He was more than happy to turn away from the really, _really_ weird scene unfolding right in front of him. A cluster of gingers were all one by one pushing past the curtain to come backstage.

"Yoon!" Rick pulled away from Squanchy and held him in his lap, where the alien curled up contently with his ears and top of his head pressing to Rick's tummy. Rick gave him a few gentle pets down his back. His eyes were watering already from the dander, and Stan had to huff out a laugh. "Girls night out, huh?" 

"Yeah, we thought we'd just try it out for once." The bottle red head, model-esque one spoke up, batting her false lashes at Rick. Her purple, glittery eyeshadow shimmered even in the dim light. "Mainly, because we got a _lot_  of free drinks." 

"Atta hivemind, always gaming the system." Rick smirked at the group of girls, and hooked his arms open wide along the top of the couch. "Now, how about I get my girls over here? Hmm?" 

Each member of Unity draped and piled themselves over him, and Rick smirked and threw his arms around as many of them as he could manage.

Stan had never seen him happy like this--he hoped it would last. Things were looking up for the two of them, and he only hoped he'd land the job tomorrow. He could almost taste all the home cooked meals he could start preparing with a little extra income. He'd fatten Rick up a little more in no time.

Before things could get even weirder, Stan said his goodbyes and began to walk home. He didn't even realize he was humming the tune to one of Rick's songs the whole way there, either.

*   *   *

Stan huffed with abandon on his cigarette, not taking his time like he usually did. Angrily, he smoked in deeply and had burned the thing down to a stub in no time. He'd been very nervous during the interview, trying to shrink and seem smaller in the chair he'd been bursting out of.

Stan was observant, especially when it came to people. He read body language like nobody's business, and he could tell the second the manager got a look at him he wasn't going to hire him. Stan had stammered through some questions that he'd phrased awkwardly and wiped nervous sweat away from his face a few times. He'd had to let some of his focus slip just because of how hard he was concentrating on not really going to town and rubbing his itchy eye, which had been bugging him since he woke up. 

_No go._

He couldn't even hold a real job even when it was something as simple as ripping movie tickets and sweeping out the leftover stale popcorn from the aisles. He simultaneously stamped out his old cigarette and pulled out another, cupped his hand and with a flick of his lighter smoked in a sigh. What a _stupid_ waste of time. 

"Heeey, Rick." Stan sighed wearily into the gap in the door before he had it fully open. The window hadn't been opened yet and the apartment was slightly stuffy, and Rick was nowhere to be seen. Stan sighed again, and sunk into the couch for a moment. Great, now he worried just where the hell that degenerate could be now. He rubbed at his stupid itchy eye until he could see black stars from the pressure.

Rick still didn't come home that night, and Stan ate his dinner by himself. 

No sign of him the next morning, either. 

Or afternoon. 

The second dinner alone. Stan eyed the three of Unity's phone numbers stuck with a magnet on the fridge, but he shook his head. Rick was a big boy, he could figure it out himself.

It was around two in the morning the next day when Stan could already hear heavy, dragging footsteps in the main hallway through the thin walls of the apartment. Stan quickly got up and peeked through the peephole and saw Rick and another (obviously ginger) man holding up most of his weight as he stumbled pitifully. Stan quickly undid the chain and unlocked the door, all the while twisting and digging his knuckle into his eye that had been bugging him for days. 

"Hurry," The man-bun person from Unity grunted, and barely got Rick into the front door before his puke splattered all along the cheap kitchen tiles. Stan greened just thinking about how the grout would probably be stained that faint, yellow-green bile color for months afterward, no matter how hard he'd scrub. 

"Shit. He doesn't look so good." Stan mumbled sleepily, placing a gentle hand on Rick's scrawny back. Rick swiped at his nose, leaving a bright streak of red across the back of his hand. Stan looked angrily at Unity, who had to look away and held onto one elbow with his arms hanging uncomfortably over his chest. 

"So, the two of you have just been on some kind of bender for the past few days, huh?" Stan asked, running his fingers through his bedhead. " _Greeaaat_. Real responsible, Unity."

"He's fine. He just has to sleep it off for a little bit." Unity replied bitterly, shrugging dismissively with crossed arms. "We're just having some _fun_ , Stanley. Lighten up!"  

"You know, the fact that you can wear any human body you want isn't fooling me." Stan side-stepped the puddle of vomit to run a washcloth under the faucet, and he then handed the damp cloth to Rick so he could wipe the blood and puke off of his face. "You're young for your species, aren't you? I'd say you're not even legally an adult by our standards. Right? You're the equivalent of, what, seventeen?" 

Unity blatantly avoided his eyes. Stan guessed he'd probably hit the nail over the head.

"I don't care if you want to be the angsty teen who ran away from home to rebel and get wasted or something stupid. Trust me, I did the same shit. To get back at my parents, feel freedom, I don't know why I did. But if I could go back and tell my seventeen year old self... Look, You want to do drugs until some of your assimilates drop dead? Fine. Eat your hearts out. But Rick _can't_ keep up with you." Stan growled.

"That's where you're wrong. Rick's the only one who _can_ keep up with me." Unity retorted.

"Did you even know he's been taking pain meds?" Stan accused loudly, jabbing at Rick with his pointer finger. "He's still in pain from the forming of that Council. Every day. Did you even know that? Anything he takes is mixing with that?" 

Unity was already shying toward the door. Rick groaned and plopped to the kitchen floor, resting his cheek with a sigh to the cool tile. 

"Don't you have, like, thirty assimilates by now?" Stan sighed instead. "Why didn't you just clean him up yourself?" 

"I have more than that." Unity mumbled. 

Stan huffed, and curled his hands into fists. "What was that?" 

"I said I have more than that." Unity reiterated. "Way more. I can be in two places at once, you know. I've started on a small, rural town in Indiana for now. But I have my people in the police, here, too. I got a whole squadron last night. I assimilated **all** of them, and then we got all these drugs for free. From where they had them confiscated." 

"Fffff---" Stan ran a hand down his face in exasperation. "Unity." He said very clearly, jabbing at the guy's chest. "You're going to drive Rick into the ground if you keep doing this." 

"No, it w-won't." Rick grumbled in protest from on the ground, putting up a wobbling pointer finger. 

"Yeah. I won't." Unity echoed. 

"Look. Just keep one member sober, to take care of him." Stan reached down to hook onto Rick's arm and help him to his bed. "Deal?" 

Unity looked pissed off, but nodded in a very miniscule way. It made for the door, and Stan followed it out, hands curled over the frame.

"Good. Bye." Stan slammed the door behind Unity. 

"Y'hear that??! Got all this shit for _freeeeee_ , boyee!" Rick slurred, laying on his back in the kitchen. Some of the puddle of puke was smeared on his shirt. He hadn't wiped away the blood very well, just smeared it across part of his cheek.   

"Yeah, I heard." Stan whispered back, kneeling down and helping haul Rick to his feet, wrapping one arm around his thin waist while he guided his arm across his shoulders. He could barely keep his own head up. The two of them stumbled to Rick's bed, and Rick fell headfirst onto it. Stan flipped him to his side, so if he puked again he wouldn't choke on it. Rick's arm heavily hung off the side of the bed, and Stan flicked on his desk light and took a seat on the edge. 

"You look like shit. Smell like it, too." Stan berated him harshly, but his actions seemed to suggest the opposite when he laid his palm carefully onto Rick's back. 

"This is what good-ass _partying_ smells like, Br-Brawns, not like _youuu'd_ know. Ha!" Rick crossed his arms around himself and drew his knees up into a loose fetal position. His throat began to spasm, and he started making throaty swallowing noises like suppressed coughs. Stan got a paper bag in front of his face just in time for him to spew again. Stan just held a hand to his back while he gagged and coughed wetly. 

" _Gross_ ," Stan wrinkled up his nose and just threw the bag that was quickly getting soggy at the bottom into their sink, it shouldn't have to be his problem. Rick would clean it up later. 

When Stan came back, Rick had his wiry arms clamped in a tight grip and he was shivering hard. When he reached down to yank the covers up over himself, Stan could have sworn he saw the brief flash of a track mark nestled in the crook of Rick's elbow.

"Rick-" Stan said before he could stop himself. _Forget it,_ Stan thought right after that. Why should he have to be Rick's babysitter? He put him through enough as it was, he wasn't going to stick his nose in Rick's business. He could take care of himself. He could make his own stupid decisions. Stan didn't care.

Rick seemed like he'd already passed out, his mouth hung partway open and his breathing was deep and even, his hands curled gently and his hair wild and tangled, sticky with dried alcohol or with a few chunks of vomit. He still had blood scabbing up a crusty garnet color in the dip next to his nose. The lamp casted folds like valleys in Rick's blankets, and Stan could see the paleness in his face and darkness under his eyes. This was supposed to be Unconscious Rick, the one Stan liked to see because he'd usually look at least somewhat peaceful and free from pain. Rick didn't even look like that now, he just looked like something foul the cat dragged in.

Dammit, who was he kidding. Of course Stan cared about him. He was _worried_. 

Stan pressed his palm to his forehead briefly, wordlessly telling him something he couldn't quite put into words. The past few days showed all too much on Rick's worn out, sleeping face. 

Stan decided to take a walk even though it was the dead of night, and he used one hand to hold his cig and the other to dig a knuckle into his horribly itchy eye.  


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Did you do something new with your hair? No? Oh, it's just a third eye that's an alien parasite growing inside of your eye socket? I barely noticed!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Body/eye horror and mentions of surgery  
> 

Stan had been getting ready in the morning when he'd collapsed in the middle of the kitchen, his breakfast still ticking away in the toaster. He had no idea what hit him, really-- he'd been humming to himself, making coffee, and mulling over Rick and Unity about the mess that had happened last night, when he felt a sudden pop of pain from his eye socket and the world spun and blurred.

He came to, confused at the change of angle as he looked up at their slowly spinning ceiling fan in the kitchen where he was flat on his back. It smelled like his blackened toast, which had burnt to a crisp while he'd been out. Weirdest of all, he felt the strangest pressure in his eye socket. The incident had been weird: when it had happened, the only thing Stan could compare it to was as if a corn kernel had been stuck in his eye socket and had suddenly burst like a piece of popcorn. 

"Ugggghhh," Stan groaned, and covered his pulsating eye with his palm. The entire area was extremely tender, and he poked at it. It felt like someone had given him another shiner, his skin was already puffy. He scrambled to his feet and went into their cramped bathroom. 

Stan looked at himself in the mirror, half of his face still covered by his large hand. He exhaled in a tight rush of air and saw his own paled cheeks. 

"Whatever this is," Stan told his fearful reflection in a quivering whisper. "We'll figure it out. _Rick_ can figure it out."

Slowly, he began to move his shaking hand away from the part of his face it covered. 

_Two._

Two eyes, crammed within one socket. Where they met in the middle and competed for space they pressed into nearly a flat line, like when two bubbles conjoin. The other eye's iris was a dark, mossy green, and the green one was trying to crowd his own brown eye out. Completely independent from his own muscle movements, the eyeball darted around to look at the sudden introduction of light. Stan could feel it rolling as it did, sticky and sliding against the inside of his skull. 

He screamed all of the air out of his lungs.

"Rick! Rick!  _Rick!_ " He shrieked on repeat, feeling like a human car alarm.

"RickRickRickRickRiiiiiiick!!!" He curled into a little ball, hyperventilating.

He rested the side of his head on the cold porcelain of the clawed tub, and squeezed his eyes shut. He felt like hurling when his eyelid stretched uncomfortably to accommodate closing over two spheres, and he could feel the definition of the curves of the two orbs underneath his lid.

Suddenly Rick was there, pressing one of his hands on his shoulder in concern. He still didn't look too great himself, he looked sick and his pale face with purpled sockets showed how taxing partying with Unity had been on him. Stan felt his breathing was out of his control, and the only sound was his shaking, heavy breaths. 

"Let me see." Rick prompted. Stan quickly swiped at his normal eye, which had started to water. He finally opened both eyes again and stared at Rick, and he felt that terrible sticky slide as the foreign orb _in his skull_  once again rotated to examine the room.

" _Yeesh!_ " Rick jumped back and interlocked his teeth into a disgusted grimace, his arm coming up involuntarily to shield his body. "Ah, f-fuck." 

"What is this?" Stan demanded, clamping his hand over the mutated eye in shame. "What the fuck is this thing in--in my head!"

"Uhhhhhh," Rick leaned his hip against the sink. He rubbed his chin and chewed on his lower lip in contemplation, not because he didn't know, but because he probably didn't want to admit what he knew to Stan. 

“Uhhh...remember how I, uh, f-forced you to get glasses?" 

Stan just continued to glare at him from where he was curled into a ball on the floor.

"I think when we portal’d through the eye-niverse-"

Stan shot him another look with his three eyes.

“Hey. That's their name for it, not mine.” Rick rolled his eyes. "I think it entered your body when you, uh, a-accidentally swallowed it." 

"But what is 'it'?" Stan demanded. "What is this thing?" He jammed his pointer finger at his double eye. "Rick, tell me what is going on here!! Please!" 

"It's a parasite. That you swallowed." Rick admitted.

"An eye parasite."

"Yep." 

"From the _eye-niverse_."

"Buddy, like I said, their name, not mine." 

"A _parasite?_ " Stan nearly bellowed this time. "An _alien parasite?!_ " 

"Uhhhh, well, it's actually more like an evolved form of sentient cancer." Rick paused, tapping the tips of his pointer fingers together. "I-if you want to get all technical."

" _Get this out of me_ , then!" Stan's voice cracked in desperation. "Holy shit....holy shit...." He sniffled and curled his arms around his knees, trying to get as small as physically possible. 

"Sooooo...you want me to operate on you?" Rick asked, in a strangely formal tone. 

"Yes!" Stan squawked. "Rick! Don't be stupid, yes and-as-fast-as-possible- _please_!" 

"Nice." Rick clicked his tongue. "I've had to blackmail most people to get them to consent to me opening them up. Well!" He hooked his arm under Stan's and lifted, even though it didn't do much besides act as a gesture. Stan lifted most of his own weight up himself. 

"Lab. Now." Rick shoved him out of the bathroom door first. Stan really, _really_ pretended he'd just imagined Rick saying something along the lines of 'this is going to be fun'.

Stan felt like Frankenstein's monster, he was strapped onto the operating table in several places like a creature would be. His chest, his arms, legs, everything was constrained. Rick told him it was for if he needed to flip the table and get gravity on his side if he needed to drain something out, but Stan thought maybe it was just because Rick thought it looked cool. 

Rick turned to him and snapped his plastic blue gloves on, a nasty and excited grin on his face. He looked like an elated kid ready to play with his favorite toy. Stan really didn't like the looks of it, but it wasn't like he could just check into his average hospital with this. 

Rick took a swig of alcohol, and Stan groaned. 

"You're not about to do this drunk, man, are you?" He asked, his voice quivering. 

"Re- _relax_ ," Rick replied, annoyed. "I know it what it looks like, but it's just so the withdrawal doesn't kick in, wiseass."

"Okay, I'm gonna pu-put you under now, Brawns." Rick flicked a syringe needle he'd taken from the steel table that Stan told himself he wasn't going to peek at because he'd rather not see the tools, because if he did maybe he'd just accept the fact that he had a third eye from now on and try to come to terms with it. Stan's breathing hitched, and he squirmed slightly in the constraints. He just wanted this to be over with.

Rick surprisingly stroked Stan's forehead with his gloved hand to try and calm him down, Stan's quickened breaths felt noisy in the silence. His nostrils flared and his eyes darted crazily, and so did the foreign one.

"You trust me?" Rick asked quietly. "Right?"

"Do your thing." Stan granted him permission again, and looked away as he felt a pinch in his arm. "And when you get it out, _kill it_."

Time when he was put under passed in the blink of an eye, and then next thing he heard was...

"Guess who didn't kill it?" Rick's sing-song.

Stan moaned, and opened his eye just a slit. He went through a full-body jerk when he realized his vision was still monocular, and one side was only black. Was he blind now? Would he only going to be able to see out of one eye forever? Goddammit, how was he ever going to hustle pool again with no depth perception? 

His hand shot up to his blinded eye, and his fingers pressed against spongey gauze wrapping, and finally against a leathery surface and a strap. It was just an eyepatch. He was also back in his own bed in his room, where he wanted to stay for the next few days and not move at all. God, this whole ordeal had been traumatic to say the least.

"Yeah, I put that on there so you wouldn't mess with it. Like a cone on a dog. Sorry to break it to you, but I don't th-think you got the self-restraint." Rick continued. "I secured it with surgical glue, so that baby's not coming off until your eye's healed. I had to carve a lot out, the parasite went deeper than I thought. The healing spray is working its magic now, but yeah, you had a huge hole in your face for a while there, Blackbeard."

Stan finally looked into his face. Rick had a few flecks of blood on his cheeks and on the collar of his white lab coat, like the parasite had been thrashing. Stan felt his stomach roll at the disturbing visual.

"Wanna see? Ahahha!!" Rick brought up the glass jar close to Stan's face, where the green-irised orb slid around inside of it. 

"Rick! No, kill that thing! _Gross!_ " Stan turned away and shielded his eye. He felt a visceral, deep discomfort knowing that the parasite in that jar had been growing within his skull just moments before. 

"No, you should keep it. It's kind of like one of your kids!" Rick gleefully shook the jar up and down like that one over-excited toddler that shakes the bug box and accidentally kills the caterpillar.

"You _love_ kids, right?" The eye smacked along the sides of the jar, leaving slimy circular green residue each time it hit the side. It rolled around, disoriented, and it suddenly looked so powerless and small now that it was trapped inside of the jar.

"Please get rid of that." Stan sighed, exhausted and drowsy from the drugs and irritated with the dull throb of pain in his socket.

Rick instead set it on his bedside table with a clink and Stan sighed in annoyance. Of course.

"Take real good care of your friend here. It looks like she's expecting. If this container breaks, this eye is going to sneeze spores into the atmosphere which would travel on the wind, and the entire planet would have contagion in a matter of hours." Rick clapped the lid with feigned fondness. "It'll be a r-real conversation starter, don't you think?" 

Stan knew he was being grumpy by not replying, but he felt like he was allowed to be. He felt like Rick had to have felt at least a little guilty for being the one who'd used the portal on him with no warning when his mouth was open. 

"Can I have some water," Stan croaked, and turned away from him with a rustle of his sheets instead. He felt like sleeping for a week. 

 "What am I, your personal nurse now?" Rick grumbled. "Just put me in a candy striper uniform, wouldja?" 

Stan didn't acknowledge him, he just buried his face into his pillow and tried to relax. He heard Rick's footsteps leave the room, and finally come back in. There was another dull clink as he left a water glass on Stan's table. 

With the rustle of blankets, Stan heard Rick crawl into the bed with him. He felt the pressure of Rick's weight drape across his hip and he felt Rick's thin arms snake around him in a hug. 

"Sorry." Rick finally grumbled in a whisper near Stan's ear. He squeezed him a little tighter. Stan kept his eyes closed and patted Rick's arm in acknowledgement, and Rick pulled away. There was a strange popping noise, again like popcorn exploding out of the kernel, and something hit glass with a dull suctioning sound. 

"Look!" Rick jostled Stan's shoulder until he sat up. Rick took the big glass jar into his hands once again and held it up so the both of them could see the new eye that had sprung into existence, a slightly smaller orb with an icy blue iris that huddled close to its larger parent. "Stan Junior had a junior!"  

"Don't call it Stan Junior."

"C'mon, it's like you're a grandpa now!" Rick laughed. "This calls for a celebration. Let me get Yoon on the phone-"

Stan took his wrist. Rick looked at him, and Stan solemnly shook his head. Instantly, the mood changed. Rick looked angry and defensive, and he stood up off of the edge of the bed and put the jar of eyeballs back on the table once again. 

"You know how I feel about Unity, Rick." Stan sighed. "That alien is bad news. I don't think you can deny that anymore about it, either." 

Rick bit the inside of his cheek, and inspected a spot on the floor for a moment.

"What do you expect me to do, Stanley?" He asked defensively. "Date a normal human being? Go out on coffee runs together? Knit ourselves some _matching sweaters_?" 

"Unity'll destroy you Rick, and I think you know it." Stan grumbled, before taking a sip of his water. He immediately spit in out in a spray, the moment it hit his tongue. It was almost pure brine, and salty enough to make his tongue recoil. "Fuck!" 

"Heh, haha. I forgot I did that, actually." Rick pointed out. Stan shook his head and covered his face with his hands. God, he _still_ was getting used to Rick, even after living together for approaching three months now.

Rick then ran a hand down his face. "Stan, look, I love Unity. We get each other. We love each other." 

"Fine." Stan grumbled. "I'm not saying I won't take care of you when it makes you crash and burn. I will. But I'm getting worried about you, Rick." 

" _Don't_ , then." Rick retorted. He finally stood up to leave. "Rest. Don't try to take your patch off unless you want to rip your skin off. Me and Unity are about to go get wrecked and y-you're...you're, uh, not invited!" 

"Oh, what will I do?" Stan shot back sarcastically and feigned a moan. "I'm not _invited_!" 

"-But we're still having a massive orgy in the living room. Which you're also not invited to. And I'll make sure to be _extra_ loud this time." 

"Fine!" Stan barked, cradling his aching face in his hand. 

 _"Fine!"_ Rick shot back, and slammed the door.

Stan sat back in his bed and sunk into it with a sigh. Looking at the world through only one eye was giving him a headache. He looked up at his ceiling, and his bad ear began to whine. He fumbled for the contraption to stick in his ear, and shoved it into his ear canal and was met with a welcomed silence. _Oh, Rick._ Stan worried as he shut his eyes. How could someone so smart act so stupid? 

Stan didn't hear a loud orgy that night, after all. Or the next night.

Or the next, until the ringing phone trilled around three in the morning. Stan tried to ignore it and go back to sleep, but the person was calling again and again. Stan made a vow he wasn't going to leave his bed for this bullshit.

It rang and rang, incessant. 

Stan growled loudly and finally got up to answer it. Five eyeballs in his jar now swiveled to stare at him as he did get up, and he realized they'd all probably been watching him sleep. Peachy.

The kitchen tiles were like ice on his bare feet. "Hhh...hello?" Stan's voice was still extremely rough with sleep. 

"Stanley." A completely unfamiliar, female voice greeted him from the other end of the phone. It sounded trembly and tight, like the person on the other end was close to tears. "It's Unity." Stan figured it was. 

"What's going on?" Stan cupped the receiver closer to his face. "It's Rick, isn't it?" 

"He's okay. They say he's okay." Unity sighed. "I'm...calling from the hospital on Grand. Room 208." 

"I'll be there in fifteen minutes." Stan replied gruffly, getting his coat from the back of his desk chair and punching his arms through the sleeves before finally shrugging it on roughly. This was all Unity's fault. He didn't want to hear another word from it right now. 

"Stanley, I know you're angry at me but I...trust me, I'm even-more-mad-at-myself-" Unity began to speak rapidly, voice trembling even more and raising in pitch, Stan could almost visualize the spots of pink and the flustered look on her face. 

"Save it." Stan interrupted, his voice easily giving away his irritation. "I **said** I'm coming there now."

He hung up the receiver roughly, even though he heard more speaking coming from it in a small, tinny voice. He knew this was going to happen, but he didn't think it was going to be this soon.

Rage passed through him like a wave, and with a snarl that built up into a loud shout he picked up his desk chair by the legs and threw it across the room, where it bounced and skittered to a stop after knocking over a stool by the small bar that had their kitchen sink on the other side.

He dug the palms of his hand into one of his eye and rested the other against the leather of his eyepatch, and his teeth interlocked into a grimace. Sure, at first Unity had seemed like the perfect, saccharine, daydream of a partner, but Rick couldn't keep up with a small village when it came to partying and doing drugs. Even for him, it just wasn't possible. The two of them would try to out-do one another and destroy each other until there wasn't anything left. 

Stan hated hospitals. He hated how they smelled, bitter and sterile like rubbing alcohol. Considering how early it was too, Stan felt like this whole thing was just a fever dream. The bright lights that chased away shadows and made everything appear flat stung his eye. 

"Excuse me, where exactly do you think you're going?" A nurse in purple and pink floral scrubs propped her hands on her hips and stopped him in his tracks. She looked extremely suspicious of him, and the villain eyepatch probably wasn't helping, either. It wasn't like he could take it off, anyway.

"I, uh, I'm here to see a patient. Room 208?" Stan got this all the time--what, did these people think he was here to rob the coma patients of their jewelry or something? (Well, _actually,_ that might be a good idea to save for a rainy day.)

"He's with me." The same voice Stan had heard over the phone spoke up from behind him, and a young woman with burgundy hair falling in a loose twist over one shoulder took Stan by the upper arm. It took every ounce of restraint Stan had to not shrug her off. His hands curled into fists: God, he wished everything could be solved by punching things. He kind of just wanted to _deck_ Unity, just once. _How could it be so stupid?_ He ground down on his molars. 

"He's my...brother." Unity said.

The nurse kept her eyes trained on him, and with a small scowl let them pass. Once she'd turned away, Stan roughly shoved Unity off of him. 

"I..." She tried, her eyes wide and a deep brown like a doe's, but Stan put up a stern index finger to silence it. 

"No. Not here." Stan growled under his breath. "Just show me where he is." 

The two of them slowed down as they approached the room, exchanging glances. Stan finally opened up the door very slowly, and saw his familiar bag-of-bones roommate fast asleep on the bed in the middle of the room, a breathing apparatus strapped to his face. Stan let Unity squeeze by and then shut the door, then stood at the foot of Rick's bed with a look that could have burnt holes into Unity. 

"Good thing you had one sober member, huh?" Stan spat. "That's why you're the only one here, isn't it?" 

"...I know it shouldn't have gone this far." Unity began tentatively, nervously picking at the strands at the bottom of her hair. It gave up and hugged its arms close to its chest, looking small and vulnerable. "That's my fault. It's completely my fault and I-I'm not saying it's not." 

"You didn't think to stop before this shit before it landed him in the _hospital_ , Unity?!" Stan tried to keep his voice quiet, and he jabbed at Rick asleep on the bed. "Jesus, just look at him!" Rick looked even skinnier now more than ever, his legs pole-thin even from under the sack of a hospital gown he was swimming in. Even though the breathing apparatus obscured most of his face, his skin looked greyish and deep hollows carved out his cheeks. 

"I know." Unity replied, voice warbled with tears. It collapsed in the chair on the bedside, covering its face. "It got out of hand. I was stupid, I....I don't know what to say besides I can't do this to him anymore. I need to grow up, leave these things behind, start my own colony...I love him, Stan, I hope you realize that. But this can't work." 

There was a beat of silence between them.

"I really am sorry, Stanley." Unity whispered. "I never meant to hurt him. We were just having fun." 

"I know." Stan sighed. Man, he could really use a smoke right about now. He knew he was the one who needed to do this, to convince Unity to leave Rick. It was just like what had happened yesterday--it was Rick's fault that Stan had contracted a parasite when he'd been in the eyeniverse, and Rick had taken care of it because it had been because of him. _Stan_ had been the one to force Rick at that party that felt so long ago to pursue Unity, to leave with it. So, now he needed take responsibility for what had been his fault all along. 

God, he wished it could work so badly. He saw how happy the hivemind made Rick. But it also would make him _dead_ if Stan didn't fix what he'd started.

"I know you love him. He loves you right back, believe me." Stan shook his head. "You're not a bad person, err, persons? You're just bad for Rick."

Unity finally nodded, and Stan finally felt like he'd gotten through to it. He felt all his anger dissipate, and he scooted a little closer to the woman. After a moment of hesitation, he looped his arm around her shoulders. Unity dipped her face into her hands, and the two of them just waited in silence for Rick to wake up. 

Dawn broke and its soft light began to leak into the room, but neither of them had slept. Unity at some point was able to get a notepad and pen, where she'd hunched over and had been scribbling out words for most of the time they waited, flipping a page with a papery rustle every now and then. 

"Are you sure you want to do it this way?" Stan asked when she'd handed over the notebook. He raised an eyebrow at it. "He'll be destroyed. You really don't want to do it in person?" 

"Everything I want to say is in here." Unity tapped gently on the notebook cover. It frowned. "I know it's better than anything I could tell him in person....I don't think I'd go through with it in person," Unity finally admitted, hugging tight onto its arms once again. "I know it's shitty. But I think it's the only way I can do it."

Stan nodded, solemnly. He took the notebook from it.

"So, you always do a written break-up, then, huh." He guessed. Even though Unity was technically an alien and not a person, he felt like he could still read it pretty well.

"I....yes. It's the only way I can do it." Unity reiterated, frowning.

Finally, the two of them pressed into a hug together.

"You're good for him, sometimes." Stan said. "He loves it when you're good for him. Do me a favor--come back when you can be good for him all of the time. He'll take you back, Unity. I know that."

"You know how I feel." Unity whispered into his ear. "Tell him I'm sorry. You know I'm doing this for him." 

Stan nodded, exhausted. It was all he could manage to do. Unity nodded back at him, looked at the notebook one last time, and finally backed out of the hospital room. And when Rick woke up, Stanley was with him alone.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick is told all the time to go screw himself, so you can't blame him for actually doing it, right?  
> Also, Rick is a certified bug-fucker. Really gets his rocks off to those gross millipede things, the ones with all the little legs, you know the type? Gross.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who said I ever knew what I was doing with this entire thing  
> This is a weird chapter?? And really long?? I'm sorry guys lol  
> Sexual activity and some gore, also large insect content warning.  
> Lastly, I don't really have Rick's voice down very well anymore. So, sorry if it reads OOC... hopefully it doesn't detract from the story!  
> The picture with Unity was drawn for this story by the amazing momo-demonte.tumblr.com!! :D The post can be found [here!!!](http://momo-demonte.tumblr.com/post/166613979289/i-drew-something-for-nanianelas-fanfic-the-jock)

_February, 1982_

"You haven't moved all day." Stan slid a plate with some steamed broccoli and a piece of fish onto the desk with a clink. He never cooked food like this-- it was usually one of a couple things, including canned soups or some cheap spaghetti. He knew Rick was awake, after so many nights spent at this desk with Rick sleeping right next to him, he knew his breathing wasn't deep enough. Stan waited for him to reply, staring at his back, at the way the fabric bridged between his bony shoulder blades. 

"I don't care." Rick finally replied, mumbling into his pillow. 

"It's almost six o' clock. It's going to get dark soon." Stan tapped impatiently at the wood on the desk, and itched at his eyepatch. "You have to eat, at least." 

"I-I don't." Rick replied so quietly it was hard for Stan to hear him. Stan sat with a sigh down at the desk chair, hesitating for a second before reaching out and placing his large hand on the shoulder that jutted out off of the bed. Rick flinched away, rolling his shoulder to shove him off.

"F-fu-fuck off, Stanley." 

"Rick. You're hurting, I get it. But you can't..." Stan began, cutting himself off with a sigh. "What do you want me to do, Rick? I'm _trying_ here. I don't want to see you like this, okay?"  
  
"You can leave." Rick answered. "Just leave me alone."  
  
Stan stiffened, capturing his bottom lip in his teeth. He worked very hard to suppress the frustrated groan building at the bottom of his chest.  
  
"Fine." He barked, setting down the fork he brought Rick down on the plate with a loud clink. "I'll just fuck off for now, then."  
  
Rick was too exhausted to do more than face away, but he heard as his footsteps tramped around the apartment, slammed the door, then faded down the hall.

Rick was surprised the two of them were even on speaking terms. Rick had wanted to kill him when he'd handed him that notebook full of sappy, cliche breakup lines from Unity. It didn't take a genius to know Stan had had everything to do with why it had broken up with him, and Rick wished he could dangle him off of the edge of a cliff in a faraway universe and let terrifying alien creatures snap at his heels.

 _You've never been in love, have you, you stupid fucking bastard?!_ Rick had screamed at him, pulling every stop he had against his roommate.

 _You were right about not being meant to exist. Your genius brother is the one who was meant to be born._ _You're just a pathetic waste of space! And I can prove that!_

_You'll always be poor. You'll never have enough money to stop being a con man and a thief! Or maybe you're just too lazy to actually earn things for yourself!_

_Bottom feeder._

_You can't understand what you did to me! You're a fucked up person. You don't even think about sex. Yeah, I know that about you. You don't jerk off. You don't have skin mags or porn._

_You don't even want it, do you?_

_You're broken._ _You're a sexless freak._

_You'll never find someone who loves you a fraction of how much Unity and I love each other!_

_You'll never have kids because you don't even want sex, do you?_

_Even if you do have kids, they'll hate you._

_They'll hate everything about you._

_I hate everything about you._

_Fuck you, Stanley._

He called every single one of Unity's phone numbers that he could get his hands on. Every time the phone rang, it never picked up once. 

He missed it so badly. He missed everything about it, he missed being able to see his Yoon in every pair of eyes that looked at him like he was the whole universe. He missed the way so many pairs of hands handled his body, like it was worth its weight in gold. Several of the members had been brought to tears by the songs he'd written about them, how much he loved his hivemind. It felt like the only thing in the universe that understood him, really understood him. 

 _Hey, watch this._ He remembered Unity's eyes as it took in a deep drag from a blunt, and then exhaled it from another member right into Rick's mouth. He missed being kissed in a dozen places at once. The way it felt to have three pairs of hands cradle his face so tenderly. Unity had been sexy as hell, but they also talked about life sometimes. It was the first person Rick had told in a very long time about his self-harm habit. And how, not like he was anorexic or anything, duh, but sometimes he just was disgusted with the idea of eating. So he wouldn't. Unity understood, Unity had been good for him.

Stan just hadn't been there to see it.

Unity could have been so good for him.

Stan didn't understand the magnitude of what he'd done. 

 _Unity could have been so good for him!_ He could prove it!

Giving a few minutes of buffer, Rick finally sat up and sheepishly took the fork into his hand. His stomach gurgled loudly and salvia flooded his mouth the moment he smelled it, and he popped a large piece of the salmon into his mouth.

He closed his eyes, hunched over and sat at the edge of his bed. He wanted Unity back so bad, but there was nothing he could say to convince it anymore. It wouldn't even pick up the phone. Why did this hurt so bad? Why couldn't he just convince himself for it to go away?  
  
"Love isn't real, your brain is just pumping out chemicals to encourage reproduction." Rick whispered, staring at the faintly glittering rings on his thin fingers. Obviously, what felt like a gaping hole didn't let up whatsoever.

He ate a piece of broccoli, it was still warm.  
  
_Stan_ , Rick thought. If he was being honest with himself, Stan was what made him feel better. But right now, he was pissed at his Stan. Maybe, he could search through different universes for another Stan-- and then the thought occurred to him.   
  
_Is this a universe where the two of you are more than friends, hmm?_

That stupid mustachioed version of himself had said that when he'd been threatening to kill Stanley. So, that meant that there had to be at least one universe where the two of them really _were_ more than friends-

"Ohhh, shit. Haaaahaha." Rick surprised even himself at the laugh that burbled up out of his throat. He was suddenly possessed by the impulse. He was really going to do it.

He was going to find a universe where the two of them were together, and he was going to ask to get in on that action.

That would make him feel better. He could use a good, ultra fucked up distraction just like that.  
  
"I'm about to find a Rick and another Stan." Rick said aloud. "Who are _dating_. Holy shit." Finally, a smile returned to Rick's face. He cracked his knuckles all in one go, interlacing his fingers and pushing outward. He curled his fingers around his portal gun.

*   *   *

"Oh, cool. Reeeal classy." Rick said when he stepped out of the portal in another dimension of an apartment that looked just like the one he just left. Other Rick and Other Stan were wrapped up in one another, a tangle of limbs on Rick's bed by the window, swapping spit with loud suckling noises.

"Okay, let's break this up. Hi. I'm Rick, if you couldn't tell."

Stan reached for his shirt, that was crumpled up on the floor by his bedside. "Great. Rick, I thought you said people from the council weren't going to bother us anymore."

"Hell no, I'm not from that stupid-ass council. You're looking at a badass _rogue_." Rick poked his thumb to his chest. "And I don't normally do this, but I've got forty Schmeckles on me and I'm just looking for someone to show me a good time."

Rick had been the only one who'd been fully undressed. Stan had still been in his jeans when he'd walked in on them. And his alternate self had--

"Oh, what the fuck?! Ewww, so this is one of those weird tail-people universes? Hell no, I'm outta here." Rick cringed at the hairless, rat-like human tail that hung low and twitched like a cat's. "Fucking GROSS." 

He shot another portal into the air and practically dove through it. He could be a kinky guy, but he had to draw the line in the sand _somewhere_. 

The dimension he stepped into had another Rick and Stan eating dinner at an eerily familiar dining room table. The two of them were mostly quiet, eating Chinese takeout directly from their boxes. Their eyes were pink and movements slow, obviously stoned out of their minds. 

"Hi." Rick couldn't help but check if they happened to have rat tails swinging from their tailbones, and saw no such thing. He motioned between the two of them, who only looked slightly surprised to see him. "So, are you two fucking or what? I'd ruh-rather not waste my time." 

Stan give Rick a slow, sticky blink and popped another large bite of brown noodles into his mouth. Other Rick, in a highly affectionate way, placed his hand over the top of Stan's brown hair in passing as he got up and made his way over to Rick.

"What." Other Rick asked wearily, sweeping his pinkish gaze over the length of the visiting Rick. "What kind of council shit do you want me to do this time?" 

"I'm not from that dumbass council." Rick shook his head, wrinkling his brow. The two Ricks scrutinized one another for half a second, before the other Rick spoke up once again."Did they do something to your Stan?"

"What? No!" Rick was even more confused. "What do you mean?" 

"Come." Other Rick led his visitor out into the hallway, still a carbon copy of the universe he'd left. The two of them stared at one another, defensive and with their arms both crossed. The same faulty light flickered and strobed down the hallway. 

Rick felt like a dumbass when he realized the red eyes and the slow movements were actually from tears, not from smoking pot. 

"You joined?" Rick asked his very somber counterpart. 

"Had to." Other Rick replied. "They _are_ us. They know just how to get to us." 

"Spit it out, then!" Rick shrugged. "What?!" 

"They poisoned Stanley." Other Rick explained, voice low and nearly in a whisper. "With time-sensitive stuff. They timed it so that it would become deadly _just_ before I'd be able to whip up an antidote myself in the Lab. It got down to the wire, but yeah. I joined."

" _Fuuuuuck_." Rick ran a hand down his face. "They're getting better at this whole 'join or die' thing then, huh?"

Other Rick nodded, slowly. 

"Well, this dimension is **sad**." Rick shrugged it off. "I'm just, uhhhh, gonna leave." He hiked his thumb over his shoulder.

Other Rick grabbed his wrist before he could reach into his pocket for his portal gun. 

"They'll do it to yours, too, you know." Other Rick warned. "I'm telling you. Plan it now-- what you're going to do. They will make him a target."

"Thankss," Rick shoved out of his grip. "Cool. I'll keep it in mind. Now I gotta go, this dimension is sad as shit, no offense."

Rick walked through yet another portal, and grumbled. He was just looking for a good screw, all this other shit was really, really unnecessary.

It was nighttime in this one, the clock in the living room said it was one in the morning. Stan slumbered away in Rick's bed below the window, but Other Rick was wide awake and waiting for him in the dark. Naked. Sitting on the foot of the bed. 

"Oh, hi." Other Rick said, not surprised at all. He was looking at something hand-held, he looked up at Rick and then to the device. "They give you all kinds of tech, when you join the council. We can track Ricks now. So, you're C-137. Brown-Hair Rick. But you don't look very brown-haired to me." 

" _Uggghhhh_ , gross. That's really what my code name is on there?" Rick came forward in the dark, scowling and squinting at the device. It was a round orb, semi-translucent plastic showing the wires inside, with a small strip of screen above all sorts of buttons and switches. Sure enough, that was officially his trans-dimensional nickname. 

"Yeah. The code words are always dumb." Other Rick chuckled, and because the volume was raised, the sleeping Stan let out a soft grumble. Other Rick laid a gentle hand on his back, then slid it down his arm and intertwined their fingers. 

"Wow. Can I get some wine with this cheese?!" Rick rolled his eyes. "Real cute. No, but si-seriously. I do want wine." 

"Hey, you know you want it too. Fuck off." Rick yawned. He put the device back onto the beside table. "You want to know what my codename is, huh? I saw on here that you just came from the Tail Rick dimension, and the Sad as Shit Rick dimension." 

"His codename is really Sad as Shit Rick?" 

"Yup. And guess how he feels about that?" Other Rick chuckled. That got to him, and Rick finally laughed right back. Man, he missed good company. And by good company, he meant another compatible Rick. 

"So, yours?" Rick asked once again. "You look normal."

"Mirror Rick." He replied, and jabbed at his bare chest. "Birth anomaly. I'm a mirror image of a regular person, heart's on the right side, organs too. Flipped."

"Wow, is that supposed to be, a-a metaphor or something?" Rick looked unamused. "You're what my life could have been, all that?" 

Mirror Rick rolled his eyes. "Oh, shut up. You think you're the first one to make that joke? My life isn't symbolic to you, it's my own damn life." He finally laughed. "That, or they'll ask me what's my dominant hand. I'm still ambidextrous, like most Ricks. There's a Right-hand Rick and a Left-Hand Rick, though. They try to tear each other's throats out every time they meet."

Rick laughed again. "Shit, this Council sounds like..." 

"A shitstorm? Yeah, you could call it that." Mirror Rick scowled. "It has perks, sometimes." 

"You fucking hate it." Rick said.

"I fucking hate it," Mirror Rick agreed without missing a beat. He finally stood up off of the bed, and let go of Stan's hand. 

"Well, you're not going through three dimensions for much else, so let's get this over with." Mirror Rick stretched and itched his back. "And no, I'm not sharing Stanley with you." 

Rick stuck out his tongue. "That's a bitch move if I ever saw one." 

"Do you want me to fuck you, or not?" Mirror Rick hissed. "I'm tired. Me and Stan already went a round earlier. So, it's up to you." 

"Yeah, let's fuck." Rick agreed, as if he were bored. Mirror Rick pointed at the identical couch and raised an eyebrow. Rick shrugged, and pulled off his lab coat and shirt. Mirror Rick helped him unzip and wriggle out of his pants, too, kneeling down in front of him. They both knew the drill.

"Thaaaat's it," Mirror Rick crooned. Rick's brow crumpled, his expression almost as if he were in pain. He was rocked backward with another thrust, he wrinkled up his nose and a small groan escaped his lips. His hand wandered up to Mirror Rick's back, he pressed over his spine for leverage. 

"Come on. I know you're close," Mirror Rick panted, swiping at one of Rick's cheeks in an arc with his thumb. He grinned. "Let me see that O face of ours." 

Rick let out another groan, louder this time. His brow remained wrinkled as if he were in pain, but his mouth was contorting into a wide grin. "Yeah, I'm close. Ohhh, fuck." 

"Hmmm, feels good, doesn't it?" Mirror Rick smoothed down one of the deeper lines furrowing Rick's eyebrows, a silent beckon to try and relax. "Someone probably said go fuck yourself, and now--"

"Screw yuh-you for making this weird." Rick panted. 

"No, you think it's hot. We always think it's hot, or we Ricks wouldn't keep _doing_ it." 

"Fuuuuuuck! I keep forgetting you're basically me. It's been a while." Rick managed to squeeze out from his clenched teeth. He could feel his orgasm building, his toes were curling with it. Before he could stop himself, he came and his face relaxed all at once in visible bliss. He sighed as he came, and Mirror Rick tucked his face to the side of Rick's and kissed at his neck. Rick panted, keeping his eyes shut for a moment. 

"There's that money shot." Mirror Rick grinned, pulling away and hovering over him, letting their noses brush. "Man, I haven't gotten it in with another Rick in a while, either. I'm too annoyed at myself lately, all versions of myself, at this whole stuuupid Council thing. I missed this shit."  

"Hell yeah, I missed this shit." Rick mumbled, still out of breath. His fingers curled lightly together over his mirror image's bare back. His artificially grey hair was a complete mess, strands sticking up every which way. "I really... _hufff_...missed doing this." 

Mirror Rick chuckled from where he was curled over Rick. "You didn't do shit but lay there and let me take care of you." 

Rick chuckled. He clapped his other self on the back, almost congratulatory. "Want to share a cig?" 

Mirror Rick shrugged. "Why not." He got up and Rick rested on the couch with his eyes closed, and his hands folded over his stomach.

"You know, I know you're the rogue." Mirror Rick said smoothly, sitting on the edge of the couch and sucking on his cigarette. He blew out smoke with a sigh. He laid back down next to his alternate self. "Others will too, if you're not careful. You gotta keep on top of those roots. They're already coming in brown."  
  
"S-so what, you gonna rat on me?" Rick asked sourly.   
  
"Nah." Mirror Rick interrupted him, then reached out and tapped out the ash into the tray on the table. "I don't feel like it. Here, hold this." Mirror gave him the cigarette, and Rick took in a deep, crackling drag.

"H-Hey, get it? Smoke and Mirror." Rick chuckled, smoke coughing out from his mouth as he laughed.

"Hey, Brown? I'm gonna give you one more chance to _shut the fuck up_ about my codename." Mirror Rick plucked the cigarette away from him once again, puffing on it very quickly. 

" _Hey!_ " Rick whined, reaching for it once again but Mirror Rick twisted away from him, putting up a dismissive pointer finger telling him to wait until he'd smoked it down to nearly a stub. He ashed the whole thing, and it stuck straight up with a crumpled, zig-zag stem. 

"Asshole." Rick griped, but still pulled Mirror closer by the shoulders.

Mirror Rick grinned and started to press kisses here and there.

"Hmmm," Rick hum-sighed, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back. Other Rick planted slow kisses behind his jaw, and pressed a few in a line down his neck. Rick's hand snaked into the other's naturally grey, unruly hair.

"You look like a wreck." Mirror Rick said in a breathy voice. "You seem almost as sad as Sad as Shit Rick right now, no offense."

 Rick sighed, and just decided to keep his eyes closed.

"What the hell happened to you?" Mirror Rick asked, he planted kisses down from Rick's belly, and he was going lower and lower. Mirror Rick massaged his thigh, and Rick tried to relax.

"Drugs. Booze. The Council giving me nonstop migraines. Stan being a dick. Another person abandoning a relationship with me." Rick replied. "Me hating the fuck outta myself. What else do you want me to say?"

Rick inhaled sharply and grunted in pain. Mirror Rick had, without warning, reached down and now literally had him by the balls. And he wasn't being too gentle about it, either. "Oh, Jesus _fuck_." 

"Now that I have your attention," Mirror Rick said with a smirk. "Let's talk about Stanley Pines." 

"Ugggh. What about him." Rick rolled his eyes. "Yours is great. Whoop-dee-doo for you. You guys hang out during the day and fuck at night. Cool. You must love your life _sooooo_ much." 

"No, Rick. I meant _your_ Stan." Mirror Rick began. "I know this much. In about ten percent of dimensions, we have Stan as our roommate. I don't know how many of them we're together in because that's climbing every day, but I can tell you this. Stan loves us. Across the board, in every one of those ten percents." 

"Mine doesn't." Rick shot back. "He's way too straight. Or _something_ , I don't really know if he's, y'know, a Kinsey X kind of guy. Whatever. Bottom line, he doesn't want me like what you have. We're never going to make it work, you get that, right? And he just ruined at shot for me at a great relationship. So yeah, fuck my Stan." 

"Dumbass. That doesn't mean he doesn't love you." Mirror Rick scowled. "In every one of those ten percents, Stan saved us from a suicide attempt. Every one, Rick. Guess how many we lost that time? About four percent of Ricks." 

" _Shiiit_." Rick ran a hand down his face. "The percentages are climbing even higher now, huh. I remember when we broke one, got into a whole number." 

"Yeah. We thought that was bad." Mirror Rick looked at his alternate self, his eyes suddenly weary. "We were fifteen. I think." He let go of Rick's balls, finally, and just slotted in next to him.

"Fifteenth birthday." Rick sighed. "How could I forget. One percentage of all Ricks died that day. I remember thinking that was a lot." 

"Yeah. Not so much anymore." Mirror Rick closed his eyes, and rested his cheek on the middle of Rick's chest. "Stan wanted me on antidepressants. It was really hard talking him out of it. There wasn't any way out of telling him." 

Rick stared him down. "Well, how did you get what we do through Stan's thick skull?" 

"He's not stupid, Rick." 

"Duh. I-I know that." 

"You should tell yours about Rickvolution. It's nice to finally tell someone. Feels like a weight off our shoulders." Mirror Rick had propped himself up, his legs straddling Rick's jutting hipbones and he sat in his lap. He very tenderly cradled his counterpart's cheeks within his hands, and drew forward to press a feather-light kiss to identical lips. "You'll figure out how to tell him. Just show him the bugs." 

"Can we _pleeeaaaaassseee_ just make out right now and not worry about this stupid shit for one minute of our miserable lives." Rick whined, shifting slightly under him.

"Ugh, fine. You're so needy, what, did you just get broken up with?" Mirror Rick huffed. 

" _Yeah, actually._ " Rick replied, impatient. "So get on with it, already." 

"Damn, really? Who?" Mirror Rick chuckled. 

"Unity." Rick said sourly, covering his eyes with his hand. "Ughhh,  _Yoon_." 

"That blonde hive mind from that lame party? Damn, it's weird how alternate universes work out. I never even got its number." Mirror Rick chuckled. 

" _Ginger_ hivemind, where I'm from. And yeah. It was a fuckin' blast, while it lasted. It burnt out pretty fast, but _man_. What a fire. So, are you going to start giving me hickies or what?" 

Mirror Rick chuckled and pressed a kiss just below Rick's ear, then nudged his nose along the skin lower and kissed at the skin with wet suckles. 

"You're so damn needy." Mirror Rick mumbled into his neck when he broke contact. 

"Well, so are _you_ because you're me." Rick retorted, bending his elbow and letting his hand rest on the back of his counterpart's head. "Bitch." 

Mirror Rick hummed instead of laughed and just continued a slow, warm drag of his tongue and lips along Rick's neck. He came up once again and the two locked lips, Rick held the back of the crazy nest of grey-blue hair from his alternate. 

The two pulled apart and their noses bumped together, a thin strand of saliva broke between their lips. Rick held his alternate by the back of the neck, and the two caught their breaths with their noses smushed up against one another's.

"Why'd you break up?" Mirror Rick asked breathily. 

"Unity likes drugs and getting wasted. I like doing drugs and getting wasted, too. " Rick frowned. " _Staaaan_  the Almighty thought it was going too far." 

"Sounds like him." Mirror Rick replied. "And it probably was. Stan cares about us, Rick." 

"Yeah, I...I guess. You...look healthy." Rick confessed in a whisper to his alternate. He let his eyes downcast, and Mirror Rick held his face once again and kissed him between the eyebrows.

"All Stan." Mirror Rick replied simply. 

"He knows, then." Rick speculated, letting his eyes fall closed as his alternate self sappily gave him smooches all over the face, on the tip of his nose, on his closed eyelids, the crown of his head and corners of his lips. 

"Yeah," Mirror Rick whispered after his lips just lifted from contact with Rick's temple. "Everything." 

Rick hummed, and felt tears prickle in the ducts of his eyes. Mirror Rick kissed the tip of his nose again. Rick couldn't help but let out a pathetic whimper as a pang of longing spiked through his chest. Rick wanted to get there so badly with his Stan, and now he hated that the two were barely on speaking terms back home.

He wanted to tell him everything. He wanted to sleep in the same bed. God, when they'd _kissed_ \-- he could barely remember anything else about that night. But he remembered kissing Stan, being wrapped up in his strong arms. He wished they could get down and dirty, he wished that they could spent all night fucking each other. God, he wanted it all, and it ached. He never should have come here, to dangle a carrot just out of his reach. It hurt to see it happen with an alternate version of himself. 

"He helps me eat. He's helping me quit the self-harm. I'm teaching him guitar, well, slowly. And the sex--damn, Rick. I think this might be the happiest I've...ever been." Mirror Rick sighed and captured Rick's face in his hands once again, rapidly pecking at his lips again and again with tiny suckling noises.

"I know," Mirror Rick whispered when he pulled away. "I know me. I know _us_. You're one of the Ricks that's a dimension hopper. I see it all over your face. You don't belong in any of the dimensions, because you ruined your own. So now you're a floater."

Rick had to turn away, looking anywhere but his alternate's face.

"I am too, okay? But I decided I can't leave this dimension anymore. I can't leave my Stan."

"I can find another one." Rick insisted. "One that actually wants to be with me. Fuck me, like yours does. The guy doesn't even masturbate! Why can't I just find one that's not a-a sexual dud!"

Mirror Rick's grip had returned to his balls and had tightened painfully, and Rick hissed out in pain.

"Stans. Are not. _Expendable_." Mirror Rick growled. "You have history with your Stan, and I can't let you abandon him to go to another dimension and start over with another one. Stan isn't a plaything like all the other people you just replace over and over again. Just promise me that one thing. One Rick, One Stan. For life. I don't care who else you do it to. Don't do it to your Stan. He's probably worried sick about you even now." 

Other Rick looked down when he felt something poking onto his thigh. Rick's boner. Mirror Rick threw his head back and laughed. "We're both fucked up masochists who love pain. How could I _forget_. Getting your balls crushed is a turn on. God, we're messed up bastards." 

Rick still said nothing, and set his mouth in a line. 

"You knew this all along, didn't you?" Mirror Rick asked. "That it feels different this time. That Stan isn't going to be a person you can just start over with." 

"Fine." Rick finally admitted. "One Rick, one Stan. Now I remember why I'm not fucking other versions of myself every day. 'Cuz of this lesson-teaching bullshit you good-spectrum Ricks always pull. _Ugh_." 

"I'll give you a blowjob if you agree that right after this, you're going home. To your Stan. The only Stan you know, and that you don't abandon him for a different one, no matter what." Mirror Rick lifted an eyebrow. "Come on. You know you can't stay here. Time's slower here then your dimension, it's probably already been days. You can't leave him after everything you've put him through." 

"How do you know what I put him through?" 

"Because I put my Stan through the same shit--" Mirror Rick began, but both of them were interrupted by someone clearing their throat. 

Stan sat on the edge of Rick's bed, wearing red plaid boxers and black socks. He stared at the nude Ricks, who were too caught up to even get their hands off of each other. All of them stared at each other, completely frozen.

"Uhhhhhh... hi." Stan said first, mainly to break the silence. "Rick, who is this other Rick?" 

Mirror Rick climbed up off of Rick and came over to Stan, taking him by the shoulders. 

"Sorry we woke you up," Mirror Rick said quietly, genuinely apologetic, and he rubbed a circle on Stan's bare back. "Don't worry, he's not in the Council. I'm just doing him a favor." 

Stan stood up, his eyes still trained on Rick on the couch. He picked up his white T-shirt that was a lump on the floor and gave it to him, and Rick wordlessly put it on. The smell of Stan on it was so pungent, it made Rick miss his own Stan again with a sharp pang. Stan sat next to him, his expression one of nearly pure concern. It was then that it hit him how terrible he must look compared to the other Rick: stick-thin, still looking sickly after recovering from hospitalization, skin a pale greyish pallor after not taking care of himself for the past week. Mirror Rick was coming around, he was fleshing out, beefing up even, and his eyes were brighter.

"Are you okay, Rick?" Stan asked softly, taking his wrist and picking at the hospital bracelet. 

"He just got broken up with, too, so keep that in mind." Mirror Rick said snarkily, he'd pulled on his boxers and took a cup from the cabinet and filled it from the faucet.

" _Thanksss_ ," Rick hissed, annoyed at his alternate self. Mirror Rick came back and handed it to Stan, who took it still without taking his eyes off of Rick, and Rick felt hot under the collar at his scrutinizing stare. 

"Ricks come from all walks of life, you know that, right?" Mirror Rick told him, as Stan took a drink. "He was just on his way, right, Brown?" 

"But he's still a Rick." Stan told Mirror. "Just let me talk to him for a second."

Mirror Rick shrugged and got up, then tipped back his flask to mask his smile. He sauntered up to Stan and curled his fingers around his biceps, pressing chest-to-chest with him. They looked at each other for a moment, both smiling, and Mirror Rick let the tips of their noses brush.

"I figured you'd say that." Mirror nearly purred. "Alright, baby. I'll give you two some time."

Stan reached down and pushed his fingers into the gaps of Mirror Rick's, and gave them a gentle squeeze.

" _Wooooooooowwwww,_ " Rick groaned, rolling his eyes dramatically. He tipped back on his own flask, just so he wouldn't have to look at them anymore.

Stan trained his eyes on Rick, swimming in his oversized T-shirt. Without saying anything, Stan pulled him into a gentle hug, capturing the back of his head in his palm. Rick sighed into Stan's bare chest, and Stan rubbed along his back, Rick felt insecure about the bump-bump of the vertebrae as he did.

"Why do you even care." Rick finally grumbled. "I'm just a random Rick to you." 

"Because you're still _Rick_." Stan replied simply. "I don't know what it's like where you're from. But, me and my Rick are together. So, you still matter to me." 

"You Stans are exactly alike." Rick sighed. "It's like I never left."

"Yeah, I've met other Stans before." Stan replied. "That was-- I dunno. Weird. _Really_ weird."  He paused for a second, holding Rick by the shoulders. He bit his lip, not sure how to continue. 

"I look like shit. I already know that." Rick mumbled, breaking his gaze. He wound up covering his eyes with his palm. 

"Am I.... at least _trying_ to help you?" Stan asked, affectionately curling his fingers around the back of Rick's neck. Rick nodded sourly. 

"I mean. You're trying." Rick wound up covering his face with both eyes. He groaned, annoyed at himself at how vulnerable he was feeling all of the sudden. Being naked under nothing but Stan's massive T-shirt wasn't exactly helping.

"I don't know everything that happened. But you should talk things through with him-- uh, me? Your Stan, I mean." Stan shook his head. "Sorry. Talking about this stuff still kind of blows my mind."

Rick had to crack a smile at that.

"But what I do know, is that I'm pretty sure he's going to be dying to try to talk to you." Stan said.

"Yeah." Rick agreed. "I'm the one being the problem here, Stanley." 

"Talk to him." Stan reiterated. "He cares about you. I know that. And--man, no offense, but yeah. You look like shit." 

A rapid beeping coming from Rick's lab coat, and red light pulsed through the white cloth.

Both of them looked to it, then back at each other. 

"Did you, uhh, also give your Stan a distress signal?" Mirror Rick asked, coming into the room and grabbing Rick's discarded lab coat. He held up the machine that was beeping with a red light flashing, Mirror raised an eyebrow. 

"Yup." Rick replied, his facial expression falling. 

Mirror Rick gave him the coat. "You better get back home. Stan wouldn't pull that alarm for nothing. And remember how I said time's faster here?" 

"Shit!" Rick took the lab coat and punched through the sleeves to throw it on quickly. He scrambled to get up and throw on his clothes.

" _Shit!_ " He tugged out his portal gun before he'd buttoned his pants, and he only had one leg in his pants. He rapidly pressed the button, but nothing worked. He rapidly pressed it with excessive clicking.

"I'm out of battery!" Rick told Mirror desperately, his eyes wide as he looked from his alternate self to his dead portal gun. "SHIT!" 

"Here." Mirror Rick quickly input the coordinates into his own. "You'll use mine." Mirror Rick tossed up the portal. Glowing green lit up the room, and Stan and Mirror Rick's faces. 

Rick gathered the last lump of clothing into his arms, and looked to the pair one more time. Stan had snaked his arm around Mirror Rick's hip, like it was the most casual thing in the world. 

Rick nodded at him. "Mirror," He said, in the way he defaulted to a name when he couldn't muster up a proper 'Thank you.'

"Good luck, Rogue." Mirror Rick replied, eyes laughing, the smile on his face mischievous.

It was nighttime when a gooey green portal finally opened up once again, illuminating the lone Stan who was waiting at the dining table with his head in his arms.

"Stanley." Rick demanded, shoving his bare leg into his pantleg.

Stan stood up and approached the portal, his face raw with relief. 

"--And don't ask." Rick groaned, buckling and zipping up his pants. He tucked the massive T-shirt into it with a couple shoves, and he knew Stan was going to recognize his own shirt.

"Wasn't gonna." Stan grunted back. His facial expression was worrisome, and the one unpatched eye showed enough emotion for the both of them. "Rick..." Stan said guiltily, twisting his hands together. "Unity called." 

Rick's heart went to this throat. "Why, what's wrong?" He blurted. "Is it okay?"

"No. I don't think so. That's why I put out the distress signal." Stan swiped at his sweating forehead. He searched around and gave him a piece of scrap paper with an address scribbled on it. "Rick, I'm really worried. It said the government found out it's a hive mind. That it's picking members off."

Rick crumpled the paper in his hand, struck with terror. "When?"

"It called about thirty minutes ago. You got here just in time." Stan said. "Hurry, Rick. It said its locked itself in the bathroom at this address. Come on. Let's go get Unity." Stan pushed him toward the door, and Rick was surprised to feel something heavy drape across his shoulders. Stan's Letterman jacket. 

"It started snowing yesterday," Stan explained gruffly. "Hurry. It's about a mile away." 

The two jogged together, the icy air burning both of their lungs and puffing out white into the air. Their steps crunched on the dusted layer of snow on the ground.

"How long was I gone for?" Rick asked between breaths. 

"Five days." Stan replied grouchily, and the two didn't talk again for the rest of the trip. Rick figured it was fair for Stan to be icy towards him, after everything. That didn't mean he liked it, especially after everything he just saw.

They pushed into an Irish-style Pub, and by the time Rick got there, a mob of angry people were banging on the green bathroom door. Stan used his height and bulk to push to the front, then reached back and helped pull Rick through to the door.

Other men in line shoved and scowled.

"Hey, I was in line first!" He yelled. "Cutter!" 

"Who's Blackbeard the Piss Pirate over here?! Back of the line!" 

Stan locked his eye with Rick, his mouth downturned into a tight frown. He nodded curtly at the door, and Rick rapped on the peeling wood door just once. He pressed his face into the seam and called inside. "Unity? Yoon, honey, it's me." 

Right away, the latch in the door clicked and it opened. The mob all let out exasperated cries, and threw their hands into the air. Someone even tried to grab Rick's arm to wrench him away, but Stan broke the contact and Rick slipped inside and locked the door behind him. 

The body was the tall, ginger twin from the original trio, the very first man that Rick ever met under Unity's control. He was curled in a ball by the disgusting unclean toilet, shivering uncontrollably. A splash of blood cut across one of his cheeks, and his face was as pale as a sheet.

"Rick," Unity grabbed desperately to Rick's arms, gripping so hard the man's fingernails dug hard into Rick's flesh, dimpling around them.

"I came as fast as I could." Rick said rapidly. "Baby, what's wrong?" 

Rick stared at the blood that was splattered on his cheek, and the guy's ribcage flared very quickly. He seemed extremely disoriented, like a bird that had just smacked headfirst into a glass door. Eyes wide, dilated almost fully, nostrils flaring. Rick held on right back, gripping onto one another's arms like they were dangling over a cliff. 

"They're killing them. All of them," Unity's voice was trembling so hard it was hard to piece together what it was saying.

"You keep your Root inside this body." Rick began quickly. "Right? So if they kill this host, you'll really die?" 

Tears welled up in the ginger man's eyes and he clung desperately to Rick.

"Help me," Unity begged, tears streaming from the corners of the host's eyes. " _Please_. Cut me out of this body, I...I don't want to die. I'm so scared. I'm so fucking scared, Rick."

Rick clung closer, holding the guy much larger than him in a brief hug. "I love you, you're going to survive this." Rick pulled out a blaster and unsheathed the handle, to expose a very sharp blade. Unity still clung desperately, nodding the host's head rapidly. 

"I'm sorry I've never shown you the real me before," Unity's voice broke, and eyes flitted over Rick's face. "Please take care of me, I'm...I'm not what you might have expected." 

"I don't care about any of that." Rick pressed forward for a hasty kiss. "I'll get you safe, no matter what. Now, watch out for the blade, okay?"

Rick sliced straight down the middle of the ginger's torso, and with no time to waste ripped open the tear and went elbows deep in guts. Unity--the real Unity, the Root of the hivemind--reached for his hands, a deep grey milipede-like creature as large as a boa constrictor curled around his bloodied wrist, inching up to his elbow on thousands of tiny legs. 

"I got you, Yoon. You're gonna be okay," Rick hissed through gritted teeth, wrapping both hands around the armored worm and yanking as gently as he could. More and more yielded out of the body as he pulled, like a magician pulling out ropes of handkerchiefs. Rick didn't even have time to calculate the physics behind how this much of an alien could be crammed into this one body, but it made sense that the root would be inside the largest human in the group.

Finally, he got to the other end and Unity was tugged free, hanging in Rick's bloodied arms in loops, like Rick had an arm full of dark grey vacuum cleaner hoses.

[[ᵖʰᵒᵗᵒ](http://momo-demonte.tumblr.com/post/166613979289/i-drew-something-for-nanianelas-fanfic-the-jock)]

Rick then quickly tugged and ripped at the cloth at the bottom of his shirt to make a hasty sling to carry Unity in so he could move much faster. After securing the fabric over one shoulder and making a sash-like pouch, he was able to fit Unity inside. He pulled his coat on over the large bulge, hid his bloodied arms, and opened the bathroom door just a crack. 

" **Stan**!" Rick hissed, the door was only open enough to see one non-patched eye. Both shoved their faces close into the crack, Stan could smell the reek of blood from there judging by the way he wrinkled his nose. 

"Holy shit. Did you just..." Stan tried to talk, but seemed speechless. "Did you just... _kill_...Unity?" 

"Did I k--- ** _no!_** Dammit, just get in here!" Rick shoved the door open and pulled Stan in, before slamming it closed and locking it again. Stan took one look at the disemboweled body, and immediately was emptying his stomach into the sink. 

"Oh, like you've never seen a dead body before?" Rick shot out. "Come on. Pull yourself together. W-We got, uhhh, got--- a little bit of a situation goin' on here." 

"Wha--What the fuck _is_ going on here?" Stan wiped roughly at his mouth with the back of his hand. "And what the hell is that thing, Rick?!" Stan jabbed his finger at the very bloody sling bulging with tube-like shapes.

Rick placed a gentle hand on it, almost defensively. "This is Unity, _okay_?!" 

Stan's face fell immediately. He violently shook his head, then slapped his cheeks. He looked away, shielding his eyes from the dead ginger in the corner of the room. "Okay. This is me pulling it together. I don't know what the fuck is going on here. But right now?! We need to get the _hell_ out of this bathroom before management's called and finds us in here with this mutilated body. Yes?" 

Rick clapped Stan on the shoulder. "Good. Yes." 

"Do you have your portal gun?" Stan asked, getting more jittery as the bangs on the door increased in volume and intensity. 

Rick groaned. "It's out of battery." 

Stan turned once again toward the door. He looked back at Rick and the bulging sling draped over one shoulder. 

"Okay, then, I guess we do this the old-fashioned way. We need to hide this body, to buy us more time." Stan pointed to the door in the room that lead to a closet-sized space, what looked like it may have been a supply closet. "In there?" 

Rick opened the door, which surprisingly wasn't locked. The entire space was taken up by the cylindrical white water heater. It rattled faintly. There was just enough space on top to possibly shove the body. 

"Please don't make me look." Stan leaned with his eye hidden in his elbow in the corner of the room, huffing to try and control his breathing. "This smell already makes me want to pass out." 

Stan really, really pretended to ignore the sounds of Rick dropping it multiple times, and the heavy dripping sound on the floor. When Rick finally gave him the all-clear, the room was very bloody but at least there wasn't a corpse immediately apparent anymore. A puddle of red seeped out from underneath the crack in the door concealing the water heater. Rick just shrugged.

"Okay, it's good enough. When I say go, follow me. Right behind me." Stan said, and the two nodded solemnly at each other. Stan forced the door open, and Rick toted himself along behind him, snatching onto the back of his coat. 

"--Wouldn't go in there if I were you." That was all Stan said to the crowd of men waiting for the bathroom, and the pair was out of the door before anyone could ask why. But judging by the screaming they could hear faintly from behind them, someone found out.

Rick slammed open the front door, leaving a garnet smear on the front of it. He let Stan in and then immediately began to lock every one of the five locks they had on the door, getting bloody fingerprints on every one. 

Rick pushed into the house and shrugged the Letterman off to land in a lump in the middle of the living room. He shrugged off the sling and very gently, like he was laying down an infant, laid its contents out on his bed. 

Stan shrieked at the gigantic, snaked-sized armored millipede with thousands of waving legs as it began to move and untwist itself, getting into a more comfortable position.

"Holy shit," Stan breathed, his eyes flicking over once again to the grey worm on the bed, that was moving to curl around itself, creating a gigantic spiraled coil that took up almost the whole bed. "Oh, my God. That's.... _that's_...." Stan stammered, taking a step closer to the alien creature. "This is really Unity?" 

Rick knelt by the its side, checking quickly for any kind of injuries and trying to see if Unity was hurt in any way. Rick's bloodied hand pressed up against the bed as he leaned over the huge spiral and looked over every inch, and the front of the gigantic millipede alien made its way over to nudge into it. Rick flipped his hand over so Unity could press what he was assuming was its head into the palm of his hand. Rick gently ran his thumb over the nubby round head affectionately, and the millipede hugged onto his thumb with legs so numerous they seemed like bristles. 

"...Is it okay?" Stan asked after a second, eyes flicking from Rick's face to the gigantic bug-like thing that really gave him the creeps. Rick pressed his lips together in concern, and he continued to very gently stroke his thumb over the worm's scaly grey armor. 

"I think so." Rick replied somberly after a moment. "It seems like this form is blind and most likely deaf. We have to find Unity another host if we want to be able to talk again." 

"I'm sorry Rick, this is just really grossing me out." Stan pressed his hand onto his stomach. He really couldn't look at that thing for another second. "I never liked big bugs." 

"You're lucky it's blind and deaf right now," Rick shot back. "You think this is easy for _me?_ I don't think of Unity as..." Rick shut his lips tight before he could say anything else. "It doesn't matter. We need to work on finding another planet or dimension where Unity's not going to be hunted down like it was here. And soon, too. I don't know anything about this species, if they need to eat or what they breathe or anything. Being exposed to light could even hurt it." Rick gently stroked a bit of the coil along its edge with his thumb.

"Don't worry, okay?" He whispered under his breath. 

"Stan," Rick said very seriously, turning to him with his eyes half-lidded. "Remember when those other versions of me said I was scraping the bottom of the barrel, low on their stupid 'good people' spectrum?" 

Stan didn't like where this was going one bit. "Yeah..." He replied dubiously, his eyebrows drawing together and he frowned. "Rick... _why_?" 

"Don't fucking judge me right now, okay?" Rick made his way for the door. "I'll be back in a minute. Watch Unity." He pointed at his bed, unlocked each bloody lock, then slammed the door loudly. 

He was back in around forty-five seconds, dragging along an unconscious human by the arms and dropping their body to the floor. He then swiped his hands off on the fabric on his knees and straightened up. 

"Lives in the apartment three doors down," Rick huffed from the effort of carrying the limp body. "She came around here with a noise complaint trying to get me kicked out for good for practicing with the Flesh Curtains. Was a piece of shit person, really, so don't feel too bad." Rick dragged the body closer to the foot of the bed, propped them on the edge, and swiftly dislocated her jaw with an harsh tug and an audible pop. 

"Fuck, Rick!" Stan felt his stomach flip. He'd really never seen Rick's evil side so blatantly before, and it was terrifying him. Rick had no visible remorse--it reminded Stan of a kid in his class when he'd been very young. It had rained, and so the toads came out to wet their backs. The toddler had stomped on one of the toads for fun, and he'd watched with cold eyes as the guts burst from either side of his little shoe. 

"D-Don't watch this next part if you know what's good for you, Brawns." Rick warned in a cold voice, as he gently guided the creature's nubby end closer to the person's slack mouth. The thousands of bristly legs rippled as it crawled along Rick's wrist, closer to the young woman's unnaturally hanging jaw, her pink tongue was hanging out like a dog's. Stan turned away and squeezed his eyes shut, rushing into his bedroom. There was no way in hell he needed to see that entire damn worm push itself into that person's body. God, he really thought he was going to be sick. Again.

Stan curled up in bed and jammed his fingers in his ears, waiting for longer than he thought he needed to just to be sure. When he finally took his fingers out of his ears, he could hear a faint conversation happening in the next room. When he emerged and lingered at his doorway, still feeling a bit queasy, he saw that the grey millipede creature was nowhere to be seen, and instead Rick was hugging tight onto the small woman at the foot of his bed. 

"It's okay." Rick crooned softly, one arm hooked tightly to their neighbor's upper back and his other hand holding her head to his shoulder. "It's okay now, Yoon. Shhhhh." Rick rocked very slightly from side to side.

Their neighbor's tiny body hiccuped with sobs, and she clung tightly to Rick's back. Rick gently kissed the head of hair and continued to rock from side to side. "I-It's over, you're safe." 

They finally pulled apart after another minute or so, Rick softly wiping away Unity's tears with the back of his curled finger. 

"I know we broke up the first time." Unity said softly, squeezing its eyes shut as Rick's hands encompassed the young woman's face. "I didn't know if you'd even pick up the phone. I didn't know if you'd come for me." 

"Of course I would," Rick rubbed his thumb on a gentle arc along her cheek. "I'm, uh, if you can't tell, not over you. At all. I'm still _wayyy_ into you. I've tried to not be, and I can't." 

"We can't stay on Earth anymore," The young woman said, swiping at her eyes too. "It's too dangerous. We cut it too close this time, Rick. They'll come for me if I ever try this again." 

"I know," Rick replied somberly, taking her small hands in his. "It shouldn't have come to that, I should have protected you."

"I didn't want to either." Unity admitted. "I love you. But Stan was right. We're not good for each other. I just wanted to be the better person, for all of us." 

"I have a device that can create portals through space." Rick said. "I can get you someplace safe, where you can start to grow a colony of your own like you wanted." He extended a hand helped her stand up. The two hugged, neither one wanting to let go.

"I'll never forget you." Unity said in a hushed voice. "I promise."

"Even when I'm old and grey." Rick replied, tucking a piece of loose blonde hair behind her ear. "I think I'd still kind of be way, way into you." 

"Even when I'm a whole planet." Unity sighed back. "I'll only have eyes for you, Rick." 

"That's my Yoon." Rick chuckled, despite everything. He dipped into her ear, and whispered something into it. The two locked eyes, enamored by each other, and Stan pretended like it didn't send his emotions into a weird, angry twist deep in his gut. How could Rick look at it like that, after everything it put him through?

Stan left the apartment, deciding the give the two some space to themselves. 

Damn, all he wanted to do was ask why Rick came home wearing _his_ shirt and smelling like sex. He hung out at a bar, scraping up a few dollars at a few quick games of late-night pool just so he could buy himself a few shots. Rick was planning to leave his dimension, leave this version of him behind because he'd messed up that badly, and he felt like he knew that. So why did he come back?

Stan stumbled back, he'd gotten a little drunker than he'd been planning to. He opened his door to find Rick standing in the middle of the room, hands in his bloody sleeves limp at his sides. Rick's face was blank as he stared into the space where a portal probably used to be long after Unity had disappeared into it, standing completely still.

He only moved when Stan guided him by the shoulders, sat him on his bed, pulled the bloody lab coat off of him, and pulled the covers up over him. Stan sat with him, on the edge of the bed. 

Stan started to stand up when Rick grabbed for his wrist. When Stan looked back at him, he realized Rick was nearly crying. In some dimensions, he had Stan. In some, he had Unity. In this one, he didn't have either. 

"Stay," Rick said. Stan did, just sitting at the foot of his bed for a while.

Stan was tentative at first, but he finally reached out and laid his hand on Rick's shoulder, and slowly rubbed at his arm, and finally just rubbed slowly up and down his back, over and over. Rick didn't say anything or even give any indication towards him for a while, he just closed his eyes like he was trying to fall asleep.

"It's not what it looked like." Rick said guiltily after a while, and Stan took away his hand. "I never fucked a different version of you. Just a different version of myself."

"...Oh." Stan said. "I, uh, don't actually know if that makes it better or worse." 

Rick shrugged. "It was a good distraction."

"I thought you were going to leave for good." Stan said, then sighed. "After five days, you know, I figured you weren't coming back. Rick, I'm sorry. I'm sorry about Unity. I was a bad friend to you. What I did-- it wasn't my place. I'm glad it's going to be safe now, I tried to send you the distress as soon as I could, and I... I'm sorry, okay?" 

"I thought about leaving for good, too." Rick replied quietly, still staring straight ahead. Stan hung his head.

"I won't." Rick said simply.  _One Rick, one Stan. For life._ Rick didn't often go back on promises like that.

"Okay." Stan agreed. He figured that was the closest he was ever getting to an accepted apology. He nodded, holding his cheeks in his hands. "God, Rick. I saw a body today. I saw _another_ alien parasite today, not like I didn't have one in my skull a week ago. _Damn_. I have to wear this stupid patch until it heals." He scrubbed at his face. "Maybe I want to meet this other Stan. I need to start a fuckin' support group for this shit."

Rick let out a bitter laugh. Man, he put Stan through so much-- but there was no way in hell he was organizing a cross-dimensional Stanley Pines meet up. Maybe they'd finally do something about it and form a revolt against the Ricks.

Rick sighed and buried his face into the crook of his elbow, stretched on his stomach. Stan rubbed gently at his back again, both of their eyes shyly slid to meet one another's.  

"I want to drink until I can forget about seeing that-" Stan shuddered, squeezing his eyes shut, not realizing how he clamped down on Rick's shirt. "I want to get blind drunk and forget about that ginger with his guts hanging out and that disgusting  _worm_." 

"You think you have it bad, buddy?" Rick rolled over onto his back, snatching up Stan's wrist and jabbing at his chest with his other hand. " _I_  was the one who cut open that ginger, and  _I_  was the one who was fucking that worm's meat puppet." 

The two of them stared at each other, Rick still with Stan's hand in his firm grip. Both of their faces had grown a little bit paler, Rick's strong grip communicating all he needed to say about how much he needed this.

"So, vodka?" Stan offered, hiking his thumb over his shoulder to the kitchen.

"No.  _Whiskey_ ," Rick corrected him, and finally let go of his wrist. The two quickly clambered over to the kitchen, the glasses clinking together as they squatted down and rooted through their liquor cabinet.    

"Theeerrre he is," Rick crooned, sliding a full, unopened bottle of Jack Daniels out from the back and nearly cradling it in his arms. "Good ol' Jacky D. Ahhh, always there for me." 

"Just got that yesterday with the five-finger discount." Stan said proudly, straightening up and poking at his chest.

"Atta boy," Rick muttered before cracking it open and slugging it down, sitting criss-crossed right there on the kitchen tiles in front of the opened cabinet door. Stan lowered himself down to the floor to join him, and Rick passed it off to him.

"Cheers." Stan said solemnly, extending the bottle out toward him. "To scrubbing our fucking brains."

"Let's get scrubbin'. Bottoms up," Rick reached for another bottle that had about a quarter of clear vodka left. The two clinked the necks of their bottles against one another and tipped them all the way back together.

*   *   *

“Youuuu----urrrp—look lika pirate.” Rick burped, his bare, spindly legs propped up in angles as he leaned heavily back against the cabinets. Somewhere along the line there, pants became too uncomfortable and so now he was just wearing a labcoat, tighty whities, black ankle socks, and Mirror Stan’s oversized, bloody and pit-stained tee which was cut into a crop-top after creating the sling for Unity.

“Walk the plank, matey.” Stan replied, burping into the back of his hand and leaning on the cabinets underneath their sink, too. He looked pretty disheveled himself, there was a dark line of fabric down the front of his white shirt from spilling his drink on himself, and his hair was messed up from when Rick had been playing with it, teasing him the whole time for how overgrown it was. Stan let an empty beer can roll out of his hand and join the pile of the other four, they leaked a fizzy yellowish puddle in the corner of the room. “Heh. Rick. I’mmm… fuggin’ wasted.”

Stan squinted at Rick, almost like he’d just noticed he was there. The alcohol made his nose and cheeks ruddy. Stan poked a finger to Rick’s chest and held it there.

“That’s my shirt,” Stan hiccuped. He furrowed his thick brows, then looked down at his own identical white tee. He pinched at the fabric, his movements uncoordinated, then looked back up at Rick, baffled. “But I’m… I’m _wearing_ my shirt.”

“We’ve b-been over this, Br-Brawns, remember?” Rick couldn’t help but grin. Stan was cute when he was blind drunk like this. “It’s a different Stan’s. Another yu-yu- _universe’s_ Stan’s.”

“Woah.” Stan’s bobbing head drunkenly knocked hard against the cabinet, and he kept his head tipped back. He propped his legs up too, mirroring Rick’s body language. All the empty bottles from their raided liquor cabinet scattered and surrounded them, only one half-full bottle of wine left standing in between the two of them. “Blows my mind.”  

Both Rick and Stan reached for that last bottle of wine at the same time, fingers brushing and wrapping on top of one another on the neck.

 “Oh. Sorry.” Stan let go, resting his hand to the floor between them instead. His eye patch was dark enough to draw the eye to it when looking at him, it did a good job of distracting from his facial expressions. “Ya can have it, pal. I don’t need any more.”

Rick nodded, grateful, and glugged the entire thing down before settling his hands on top of his stomach and burping very loudly, and Stan chuckled at that. Rick let the green bottle of wine roll and join the others, spots of red dripping to the floor on its journey. Stan didn’t even realize how keeping his balance on that hand he’d taken off of the wine was sort of making him lean pretty closely to Rick.

Rick leaned in too, meeting Stan’s eyes. Rick laid his hand on top of Stan’s, his was so much smaller than the one on the bottom. Rick’s fingers were long and slender, with knobby knuckles. The back of Stan’s hand was freckle-dusted and everything about it was squarish, with thick fingers with squared-off fingertips and a squarish, large palm. Stan looked at their stacked hands, squinting his eyes at Rick in confusion again.

“We… said it dinnnit mean anything, Rick.” Stan blurted, lifting and drawing his hand back in towards his body. Rick showed no change of expression other than a small twitch under his eye showing his dissatisfaction with the rejection. “The kiss— _kisses_ , I mean. They-- dinnit mean any--- I told ya already, I’m not gay or nothin’.” Stan paused, his facial expression falling. “Or nothing.” He repeated again, and then in defeat he drew up his knees and hid his face in his arms. “Maybe it _is_ nothin’. It _feels_ like nothin’.”

“What in— in the fuckaryuu going on about?” Rick gestured wildly, his own arms threatening to topple his balance. He swayed and gripped onto a cabinet handle to steady himself.

“It’s stupid.” Stan grumbled into his kneecaps. “I don’t wanna… forgit it.” He finally looked back up to Rick again, his face even ruddier. His one brown eye seemed to squint together now perpetually from his drunkenness. “Whadda day we had today, Rick. Ricky. Rickizzle _Saaaan-_ chizzle. Heh. Hey, Ha--How come you get to give me allatheeese… nicknames and I don’t even get one? To give you one?”

“Holy shit, yu-you re— _urrp!—_ really _are_ wasted.” Rick snickered, getting handsy and sliding his hands and gripping to Stan’s hair-dusted bicep instead of the handle to keep his balance now. Stan brought a thumb and forefinger to his chin, stroking his five-o-clock shadow, screwing up his face like he was very deep in thought. He really did look like a pirate, or a movie villain or something. Rick shoved his hand into the cardboard box and fished out another can of beer.

“I’m gonna call ya Legs.” Stan suddenly decided, poking at Rick’s thigh. “Cuz ya got the longest fuggin’ pair of legs I’ve ever goddamn seen.”

“Haha, y-yeah, good luck remembering that one in the morning.” Rick quipped, cracking open another beer, it fizzed and white foam spilled out over his hand, wafting its hoppy smell as the foam dribbled to the kitchen tile. Rick slurped it up noisily, and then swiped the foam mustache away with the back of his hand. He didn’t realize Stan was staring at him the entire time as he leaned heavily against the counter, his brown eye sleepy but overflowing with some kind of sappy admiration.

“What?” Rick snapped, taking another sip. “What’reyuu lookin’ at?”

“I like you,” Stan said softly, nothing about his softened expression changing. “-Like hangin’ out with you. Doing all kinds of stupid shit with you.” He looked away shyly, nervously rubbing at his black patch. Rick reached out and took his hand to guide it away from messing with the healing process, but now that their hands were holding one another’s, Stan’s face erupted in a flush.

Rick stroked the patch, cupping the side of his face in his palm. Stan inhaled sharply and winced from the pain, then leaned into the touch, sighing softly.

“D-Does it hurt?” Rick asked quietly, his long legs bent at odd angles as he kept his hand pressed to Stan’s face. Stan shook his head once, but kept his one eye barely opened.

“Not too bad, Legs.” Stan said, as Rick’s thumb stroked along his skin and Stan still leaned in to the touch. “Not _toooo_ badly. I’ve had worse.”

“You’re a real tough cookie, Pines.” Rick smirked, swiping at his cheekbone over and over again, but then he pulled away, a frown sagging on his face. “I’m sorry that parasite got into you. I’m sorry I--- I left. I'm sorry I said all that crap to you, about you. I didn't mean it, I-I just wanted to hurt you. I should have— _Fuck_. What kind of friend just leaves after he—after I gave you surgery, and I-I-I just left to find a quick fuck. I’m-I'm such a piece of shit.“

 “I’m fiiine.” Stan protested, clapping his hand to Rick’s shoulder. “I can take care’f myself. Unlike _you_ ,” Stan teased. “I’m ‘lways takin’ care of you.”

“I know, Stan.” Rick’s frown remained. "About that stuff I said to you--"

"I know you dinnn't mean it." Stan just stared at him still, drunkenly slumped onto his shoulder. "Yeah, it hurt. But I knew you didn't mean it. I'm just glad I got my friend back."

Stan just kept staring at him with a soft smile on his face.

“What’s with the look? Somethin’ you wanna tell me, Patchy?” Rick asked, leaning even closer to him.

“I, um. Think I… _liked_ kissing you.” Stan admitted. They attempted to lean closer together, but the alcohol made it more like they both just so happened to be slumping in the same direction.

“Oh, yeeeah?” Rick slurred, a smirk tugging to one side of his face, slipping his other hand to cup Stan’s cheek again. The skin was warm to the touch, and Stan’s eye flitted rapidly across many of the features on Rick’s face. Stan looked down at the floor, catching his breath. Rick still kept his hand to Stan’s ruddy cheek, slipping his thumb back and forth in an arc. Rick leaned in even closer, eyelids fluttering against his cheeks. “I betchya did.”

“But.” Stan put up his index finger, he couldn’t keep his hand steady as it swayed. “We shhhuldn’t do it again.”

“ _Whyyyyy_ ,” Rick whined in protest, gripping onto Stan’s shoulders outstretched from him instead. “It was f-fucking _fun_.”

“I _know_. I know that, know it was fun.” Stan mumbled drunkenly, turning away from Rick and sliding further down on his back, propping up his legs, folded over himself in a way that made some of his hairy belly poke out from underneath the hem of his shirt.

 “ _Poke_ ,” Rick teased, poked it with one bouncy finger, and continued to tip back his beer.

 “It was fun…” Stan continued, folding his hands over his stomach and shutting his eyes. He heaved out a sigh. “Rick I’m gonna need ‘nother onea those beers to say what I wanna say.”

Rick fished one out for him and swiftly cracked it open, Rick let the foam slide out over his hands and he shook as much off as he could before he handed Stan the slippery can. Stan graciously accepted it and tipped it back, not even aware at the small foam mustache it gave him.

 “Youuu’re my bestfriend.” Stan finally slurred, playfully slugging at Rick’s shoulder in wobbly, very slow motion. “No, ffuck, I mean, _Ford’s_ my best friend. _Too_. But you’re… Rick, you’re _another_ best friend. Get it?”

 “I ca-can calculate freakin’—spaceflight, Stanley, I think I can “ _get”_ having two best friends.” Rick chuckled, finding himself wriggling even closer to Stan.

“So thatsss… yeah. Why. We can’t smooch anymore,” Stan burped, his head swimming and he rested his chin to his chest. “ ‘Cuz if we _do_ , if we—fffuck, I dunno—it gets ruined. And I don’t want— to ruin this. Because I like you. Because you’re my bessfriend.”

 Rick placed his hand over Stan’s ear, dragging his thumb along the side of his face before tucking a strand of brown hair affectionately behind his ear, letting his fingertips trail along the ridge. He leaned in close to whisper into it, now that the hair was out of the way.

“What if I told you,” Rick whispered. “That w-we could be _both_.” His nose nudged at Stan’s ear, and Rick slipped the cartilage towards the top into his mouth, sucking softly before he got to Stan’s lobe, and took that into his mouth. He was met with a strained, twisted giggle somewhere deep in Stan’s chest.

“Stop, that tickles.” Stan pointed out, chuckling, and Rick nearly groaned. So much for trying to be sexy. 

“ _Both_.” Rick pointed at Stan and raised his eyebrows. “J-Jusss… think about it.”

“Pal, I’m too drunk to think about _shiiit_ right now.” Stan slurped on his beer again, spilling even more on his shirt.

 Actions would have to speak louder than words, then. They slumped, angled very much toward each other, and Stan continued to slurp at his cheap can of beer. Rick couldn’t help but reach out and run his fingers over the eye patch he’d given Stan again. It was all his fault, this injury. Stan was taking it like a champ. They somehow kept finding their faces just inches apart, drawn together like magnets.

 Rick placed his hand on Stan’s, keeping the beer down and pressed to Stan’s thigh so he wouldn’t bring it up to his lips again. Rick pulled forward very slowly, giving Stan time to lean away if he wanted to. But it looked like he didn’t want to. Rick’s nose nudged up against Stan’s. Rick gently kissed Stan’s mouth, slightly off-center and more toward the corner seam, and Stan sighed in bliss into it, enamored, angling up his chin and leaning into it. 

“Did _that_ r-ruin it? Huh?” Rick pulled away and teased, the tips of their noses still bumping against one another.

 “Hmm. We shhhould try _again_ , juss to be sure.” Stan’s lips stretched into an easy smile, and he wrapped his hand around Rick’s slender waist. Rick leaned in more, holding himself steady with Stan’s arm. Rick chastely kissed Stan’s bottom lip, then smushed his lips to his again, centered this time. Stan leaned in, tipping Rick back, and the seams of their lips opened up this time. Rick’s tongue licked across Stan’s, and the two pulled back again. Stan was breathless, eyes shiny, holding Rick close with his arm wrapped around the small of his back.

"Dammit, yo-you're not going to remember any of this, are you." Rick sighed, drawing close enough for his nose to bump against Stan’s forehead. 

“Hey, ‘Ley.” Rick whispered. “I’m gonna ask you a kinda weird question.”

“Mm?” Stan managed to grunt, his eyes fixed on the ground, he reached out and curled his fingers into Rick’s lab coat lapels.

“Wanna pierce my ear?” Rick asked, one eyebrow quirked upward, a large, mischievous smile stretched across his face. 

That was how Stan found himself dragging the flame from a lighter along a needle, while Rick held his ear outstretched, a small dot of pen on the flap of skin right in front of the canal. If he was being honest with himself, Stan wasn’t sure if he could hit a target even if it hit him first. 

“Okay. Shit. Shit. Just piercin' a tringus-“ Stan began, something oddly sing-song about his words.

“ _Tragus_ ,” Rick corrected. He sat up on the sat on top of their kitchen counter by the barstools, socked ankles crossed, the washed-out florescent light that barely spilled out onto him from the kitchen was probably terrible lighting to be doing this in.

“Doot doot doo, what a dumb thing to do, when I’m this fucking _druuunk_ , doodly doo.” Stan came closer to Rick, his expression giving away how nervous he was to do this. “Shit. Shiiiit. Rick, I dunno if I can do this.”

 “Just _do_ it already, don’t be a baby!” Rick curled his hands around the edge, white-knuckling it. “Hurry up!”

 “Fuck!” Stan propped one foot up on one rung on the barstool and leaned his hip up against the counter, but he still found himself swaying.

“Stanley, don’t make me go into the bathroom and lu-look in the stupid mirror and do this myself!”

“Shit—why did I—why the fuck did I agree to this—“

“On three, you _ffffuggin’_ baby. One.”

“ **Rick** , shit, shitshit _shit_.”

“Two.”

“Okay, okay! Geez Louise…”

“Three!” 

Stan sort of shouted through it as he grabbed Rick’s ear with one hand and pushed the needle hard into Rick’s tragus, it felt like sinking the needle into a block of hard cheese. Stan kept going until he saw it come out the other side, and then jerked his hand away, breathing hard. The silver needle remained stuck in Rick’s ear, at a slight downward angle.

Stan was feeling a little light-headed, and the room was spinning around him. He took in more breaths, then a smile split his face. His heart was racing, but in a good way. It was sort of exhilarating.

“Good.” Rick reached out and gripped his elbow, smiling wide and hopping down off the counter, and he hiked his thumb toward the bathroom. He looked a little ridiculous with a huge needle stuck through his ear.“ I’m gonna go put the earring in.”

“I gotta go in there, too.” Stan burped, pinching the back of Rick’s lab coat and trailing him. “I’m pretty sure I need to spew my fucking guts right about now.”

Rick hissed softly as he took out the needle and pushed the earring in through the slightly bloody hole, and Stan wrapped his arms around the toilet and let all the bad drinking decisions spew out from him. It smelled overwhelmingly like dry wine.

Rick kneeled down next to him, clapping a hand sympathetically to his shoulder. Stan sputtered and coughed, slapping his cheek to try and pull it together. 

“Howzit look?” Rick asked, cupping his ear and angling it toward Stan. A cubic zirconium in ruby-red sparkled back at him from the firm flap of skin in front of his ear canal. Of course, Stan knew it couldn’t be a real precious stone: he’d had enough pawn shop owners chew him out for trying to sell them something worthless to tell the difference by now.

It looked good. It made Rick look even more badass. _Smokin'_ , Stan thought, but he had no idea where that word had come from.

“Smokin' ” Stan found himself saying when he pointed at him, smirking. Stan swiped at the back of his mouth and leaned backward, willing himself not to puke again. His stomach felt settled enough, for now. “I mean, like. Badass. _Good_ , I mean. Looks good. Red’s my favorite color, y’know.”

"Yeah." Rick turned back to the sink to dab some of the blood away, running the sink for a moment. "I thought it w--"

When he turned around, Stan was passed out sitting there, his head hanging to his chest at an uncomfortable angle. Rick knew there was no way he had the strength to move him, so he just threw him their towel for a blanket.

Rick stumbled through the dark to his bed, and hissed and held his stubbed toe when he accidentally kicked something on the floor, something that had no business being there. 

Rick reached down to see what he'd kicked and grabbed a strange orb with dozens of buttons and switches and a small strip above them, resting on the ground below where Mirror's portal had opened up.

Rick's eyes widened, and he held it closer to his face in disbelief. It was the Rick tracker Mirror Rick had before, and Rick couldn't believe his eyes. This was the single best thing he could have asked for if he wanted to remain the solitary Rogue Rick, if he wanted to avoid the Council and maybe spend more time without leaving Stan. He found the on switch and booted it up, and on the display screen it said, in pixelated letters: 

 _I'll tell them I lost it._  


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick now has a bugsona. I warned you the dude was messed up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content in this chapter: referenced alcoholism, mutual masturbation & handjobs.  
> Here's a sort of vague idea of what one of the Trackers looks like. It's meant to be slightly bigger, with a lot more buttons and a QWERTY keyboard underneath. lol can you tell im a 90s kid? :P
> 
>  

 "What is it?" Stan asked, peering at the strange invention with a squinted eye. It was spherical, covered in buttons, and had a small strip of screen in at the top. In fact, it was almost the exact design that went on to become a 20 Questions Machine when Sellout Rick did what he does best. 

“God, I’m hung over.” Stan moaned and flopped his head to his crooked arm, he sat at one of their barstools and curled his fingers around a coffee mug in his other hand. He only lifted his head enough to take a few sips before he sank his head back down to his thick arm. “Can you make me that hangover relief thing for me again? I really fuckin’ need it right about now. Even if it tasted that bad.”

“Nope,” Rick continued to fiddle with the thing, twisting the machine over and over, eyes scanning and flitting, he was rapidly picking it apart mentally. “Those chemicals only work for that one kind of soda, not alcohol. You think _I’d_ be hung over willingly if I knew how to make that? C’mon, now, Brawns.”

“Damn,” Stan sighed, rubbing at his aching head and grasping his hair, little brown tufts stuck up between his fingers. He opened his eyes just a slit, and noticed flashes of red sparkling back at him, an earring nestled in the front of Rick’s ear.

“When did _that_ happen?” Stan pointed at it.

“Last night. You pierced it, remember?” Rick twisted at it, furrowing his brow.

“I don’t remember _shit_ after finishing off that Jack Daniels,” Stan admitted, covering up his patched eye. “It's all black.”

“Jesus, y-you’re a lightweight.” Rick rolled his eyes.

“Red’s my favorite color, y’know.” Stan said softly instead, countering his grumpy attitude. Rick ignored that, and just continued to fiddle and mash buttons with his thumb.

"Anyway. This thing? It’s a Rick Tracker. And I think this is the single thing that I needed the most to get this damn Council off of my ass."

"And how did you get tha... _oh_." Stan tried to hide his smile, but it was pointless. "When you.... _you know_....with another Rick?" 

"Look, most people would if they could." Rick rolled his eyes and finally tucked the spherical machine into his elbow. Rick met Stan's one uncovered eye, contemplating. 

"I....uhhh, I should fill you in on some things. That I've been keeping from you." Rick said, biting down on his lip. “I don’t really w-want to, let’s get that out of the way first. The other Rick said I had to.”  

Stan didn't look at all surprised. This was far from unexpected. "Uh-huh," He replied simply, and followed Rick when he plopped down on the couch.

"I'm just going to do this as quickly as possible and rip this band-aid off." Rick began. "I...I like to hurt myself. All the time. Food repulses the fuck outta me sometimes."

"Okay." Stan replied, nodding, not really sure how to digest the information, judging by the wrinkle in between his brows. He reached out and just held Rick's shoulder.

"And I...I...." Rick groaned in frustration and covered his eyes. "I should have asked that other Rick how, exactly, he got this through your thick skull." 

"Watch it," Stan grumbled defensively. 

"Okay, um. I'm suicidal, but I...I have to be." Rick sighed, sinking further back into the couch. "I have to be," He repeated, licking his lips and wondering how he could explain the very complex workings of the fourth-dimension to a guy who only knew basic math from a middle school level. 

"Why?" Stan asked after a moment of silence. 

"I'm thinking of how to explain it, okay?" Rick shook his head. "Okay. Lab. Let's go." 

Stan was consistently amazed at what Rick could do, because within minutes, he was standing in front of something that seemed like a hologram right out of Star Wars. It was of several different colored bugs on a log, and Stan stared at it until his brain hurt.

"What does this mean, Rick?" Stan asked, and Rick laughed.

"I haven't started the simulation yet, Stanley. Be patient." Rick finally flipped a switch on something, and the hologram began like a movie. The little bugs crawled along the log, and a bird swooped down and ate the most obvious one, a red one that stuck out like a sore thumb. Birds swooped again and again, until there were only a few bugs left, brown ones that blended in well enough.

"Okay, I learned this in, like, the eighth grade. So, the bugs that aren't adapted die. I don't understand what this has to do with you." Stan rubbed at his chin in frustration. "Please help me make sense of this, Rick."

"I'm not done yet, okay?" Rick grumbled. "Keep watching." The scene rose into the air, and each inch it got higher, all the bugs underneath formed rows like pearl necklaces.  

"This is what just happened, but this time, on a fourth-dimensional scale. Watch." The first bug, the brightest one, once again got snatched up first by a bird. This time, the whole chain winked out of existence right away. 

Rick paused the simulation. 

"Do you believe in fate, Pines?" Rick asked, almost ominously. 

"I don't think so. Not really." Stan replied. 

"Well, too bad." Rick said with a chuckle. "You should. Most people die in the same way in every dimension they're in. There's exceptions, but that's usually the way it goes. All at once, in one point in time, like what you just saw. Get it?"

"Sort of." Stan grumbled, his brow still wrinkled. "Keep going." 

"Okay, so, this is me, and this chain extends in all directions, up and down, for infinity. This is just a slice." Rick said, and all but one chain of bugs disappeared. He approached the hologram, reached out and pointed to the many different versions of the same bug all stacked up against one another. He pointed at a single bug. "This is one dimension's version of me. Let's say it's that fucker Mustache Rick, just because I really hate him." 

Rick reached out and squashed the bug between his fingers, and it winked out. It left a hole, a break in the continuous chain. 

"Another version of myself told me that when I tested you with that syringe, about four percent of all Ricks cross-dimensionally died from that." Rick reached out to squash a few more, and more gaps in the chain blinked away. 

"I don't understand this, Rick." Stan growled in frustration. "Four percent of you died, but you're still here. You said that most people all die at a certain point, the chains are meant to disappear all at once." 

"Exactly." Rick sighed. " Breaking this rule, not dying when the majority of your alternates do, see, it's a new adaptation. Not too many human beings have it yet. Kinda... kinda like, uhh, lactose tolerance or whatever. It's on the rise. But me and my family line have it." Rick looked up at Stan, and his eyebrow quirked upward. "Make sense?" 

"So, the bugs that died. It was because they were bad at adapting." Stan studied the log again, eyes scanning from side to side. "Rick, give this to me straight! Bugs, birds, chains... this still makes no  _sense!_ " 

"I have two adaptations working for me and my survival." Rick finally began to explain. He shut the simulation off, and pressed his hand to Stan's lower back to lead him out of the Lab. "One, I just happen to be a person born with a dimensional mutation that doesn't make every version of me die off all at once across every dimension. We die in percents, all the time, constantly. I'm not the first one who got this trait, and I'm not gonna be the last, either. But in the end, other people with this mutation, they still died." Rick sighed. "At the end of the day, they still died, all at once, whatever percent was left of them." 

"You said you have two adaptations." Stan prompted, not saying much else. He was trying to let it sink in for him. 

"Yeah. The second one, is that... I'm suicidal." Rick said. "I don't wait around for something else to kill me, because... I'll do it myself. And see, this combination is the key. Percents of me die off, constantly, and I'm the one controlling it all, not outside factors. Because I'm suicidal, I'm...  _uhhhh_... contributing to my own evolution across dimensions." 

Stan looked stumped. He blinked. 

"One more time." Stan deadpanned. 

"I'm bringing back the hologram." Rick laughed, pressed a button, and the log came back. This time, just one bright bug stood out against it. The log rose up, drawing a chain of the insect out underneath it once again. 

"Now, tell me what you think is going to happen. If this is me." Rick indicated to the hologram. "Give it a minute. Look at the surface, too. That bug on the very top, that represents me as an average." 

"Okay." Stan rubbed his hands together. "Yeah. I can get this. Average on top. All dimensions. Okay, so, a few die. In the chain." 

A few holes in the chains appeared as bugs disappeared. The only bugs that did disappear were the brightest-looking. Stan's eyes widened as the bug at the very top of the simulation, the one on the log, deepened in color. It blended in better to the log. The bird avoided it.

"Oh." Stan said. " _Ohhhhhh_. The average. The average!" 

"Yeah." Rick turned off the simulation once again, and it went away with a blink. "Now you understand, sort of. It's actually a lot more complicated, like, spend-years explaining it complicated, but this is the easiest way to explain it." 

"You control your own evolution. I get it!!" Stan whooped. "That averaged bug would have been eaten, if the bugs that were the brightest in the chain didn't die. But it adapted, by killing off a small part of itself. Wow. Oh, wow." 

"It sucks to want to kill myself all the time. But that's how traits are. Humans are anxious as shit, and it's because we had to survive on this death planet. Things that help you survive don't always feel good, they just do their job. Which is keep you alive." Rick said. "Humans don't normally see evolution on a dimensional scale, but that's what it is. And that's why I need both of these traits. It's just a theory, though. We're calling it Rickvolution." 

"And if one Rick gives in and takes anti-depressants, most of them will be taking them. And then--" Stan stopped himself. The two were almost out of the Lab, and he stopped at the top step. 

"Yeah." Rick replied. "I don't know what would happen then. Nothing good." 

"Okay, so you said you were the bug. And the bug started killing itself selectively, trans-dimensionally, to blend in better to that log." Stan sucked in a breath. "The Council is doing something like that, isn't it. Keeping track of Ricks, making it even more organized. Assassinating some of them, ones they think need to die to contribute to it." 

Rick nodded slowly up and down, uncharacteristically solemn. 

"Fucked up." Stan shook his head. 

"Now you know why I can't join." Rick shrugged. "Among other reasons." 

"Mustache Rick?" 

"Mustache Rick." 

"And, last question. If you're a bug, then who's the  _bird_?" Stan asked. 

"Good question." Rick replied. He kept his hand pressed to the latch, he avoided Stan's eye. 

"...Do you even know?" Stan prompted again. 

"Of course I know!" Rick snapped. "Well, sort of, okay? I have a theory." 

"So, you're theory is that the bird is...?" 

"The bird is death." Rick said, very softly. "With the combination of these two traits, only percentages of me die, and it's self-regulated.... I think...if I keep this up....I'll be the first person to evolve the traits necessary to, uhhhh--" Rick stopped himself. 

"You think you'll become immortal. The first person to be immortal." Stan deadpanned. He stared Rick in the eyes. "Okay, the bug thing was fun, but now you're freaking me out. That's...  _insane_ , Rick. People can't live forever. That's fairytale shit, it can't come true. This seems out of touch, Rick!" 

"I felt you wouldn't understand." Rick grumbled. "Of course. I knew it." He pushed open the door in the floor of the living room and stepped out. "You think I'm crazy. That this theory is crazy!" 

"Well, yeah." Stan followed him out. "I'm sorry Rick, it's hard for me to comprehend. People die, everyone, eventually. That's what I know. That's my reality, but it doesn't have to be yours. If you believe that, uh, somehow being suicidal is actually, in the long run, going to make you.... Well, I guess I'll try my best to believe it, too." Stan's expression fell.

"And come to me if you're feeling bad, because I want to keep this universe's bug alive for as long as possible. If you don't want to eat, I'll try to help. If you feel like hurting yourself, or... yeah. That's what I can do." Stan said softly, shuffling nervously from foot to foot.

Rick brought him in to a hug. He'd come too close to leaving this Stan behind forever, and he couldn't thank Mirror enough for convincing him otherwise. Stan patted him on the back, and smiled down at him. And without so much of a waver in his smile, he said: 

"But if you don't take this goddamn eyepatch off of my face, Rick, I'm busting your fuckin' face in so bad you'll be wearing one, too." 

*   *   *

Stan's eye had healed well while it had been under the patch. It was whole, at least, when Rick used a chemical to dissolve the remainder of the surgical glue holding it in place. However, Stan chose to wear sunglasses for a little while longer as the new eye hadn't been exposed to any light yet and was sensitive to it. Rick of course gave him endless shit about wearing sunglasses on top of glasses during the day. 

"Rick." Stan piped up, quietly, while Rick slept next to him on his bed. Rick stirred, rustling the sheets. Stan reached out and touched his shoulder, and keeping his voice low did nothing to mask his enthusiasm. 

"I've finished, Rick." Stan whispered to him. "All of them. I got it all down." 

Rick grumbled, groggy and sleepy. He didn't say anything decipherable, but then again Stan was used to being patient when he'd wake up, discombobulated, and rapidly go through several alien languages before finally touching back to English.

"I'll just... leave it here, then. G'night," Stan gave his shoulder a quick squeeze, and with the click of the light switch Rick was plunged into darkness. It began to snow outside, and Rick's eyes folded open. He waited until he heard Stan go into his bedroom, and he swung his legs over and turned the overheating lamp back on. He shuffled all of the papers into one messy stack, and cracked his fingers one by one.

Stan jerked and woke up to Rick poking him repeatedly. Stan groaned and rolled over, keeping one hand pressed over his sensitive eye. Rick was holding something behind his back, and biting down on his lip in a smile he was trying to fight back.

"What?" Stan looked Rick up and down, wondering what he was doing. His eyebrows drew together. "Rick, what's this all about?" 

"Uhhh... here." Rick brought out the papers from behind his back, they had the texture like they'd been rifled through often, big gaps in between and slightly wrinkled surface absolutely covered in series of numbers, letters, red ink scritch-scratching things out, boxes, arrows...

"This is..." Stan took them delicately into his large hands. "Oh my god. Rick, is this..?" 

"I...uhhhh...decoded the ciphers. Last night." Rick scratched at the back of his head. "It's n-nothin-" Before he could even finish that sentence, Stan had jumped up from bed and already wrapped him up in his arms. He lifted him up off of the ground, tipping backward. Rick couldn't breathe, and Stan finally put him back down and continued to squeeze him hard. Rick made a slight squeaking noise as he tried to breathe, and Stan finally let up just a little bit.   

"There's a telephone number." Rick wheezed. "I think he'll want you to call it." 

Stan held his breath, as the dial tone blinked in and out. He waited until Rick had left for the day, but he'd been nervous and gravitating toward the phone that hung in their kitchen for hours. His arm itched to just slam the receiver down, and each ring made him want to quit even more, like he was getting closer each time and he just wanted to shut it all down. 

"Hello?" It was him all right, his voice was the same all haughty and coffee-rich. Stan pressed his palm over his mouth, tears pushing out of his ducts faster than he thought they could. He didn't make a sound, he didn't even breathe. 

"...Hello?" Ford tried again, and Stan could really just picture him, see the look in his eye, see him shoving the glasses higher up his nose with his pointer finger, the fifth from the edge of his hand. Stan kept quiet, staring at the holes poked into the plastic of the receiver. Silence was fuzzy coming from the other end, too. Ford hadn't hung up yet, and that's how Stan knew he'd figured it out. 

"Stanley," Ford said quietly. "It's you, isn't it?" Stan swallowed back the pathetic whimper clawing his way up his throat, and squeezed his eyes shut hard. The receiver began to shake where it was pressed up to his face. 

"I'm glad you figured out my ciphers. It took you less time than I thought it would." Ford continued. "I'm going to make the guess that you had help. But that's not what's important. Stanley, stop running away from all of this. I've found...  _things_. Incredible things. Cryptids, the odd, the unexplained... it's like a dream. Everything I've ever wanted to study and examine. It's a hot spot of paranormal activity, I'm moving to Oregon soon to start to document it all. I'm so excited, Stanley, it's really, such an incredible opportunity." 

Stan blinked, his breath hot against his hand. He wanted to speak, but he couldn't even move his hand. He was frozen to the spot. 

He heard Ford sigh, softly. "Are you going to say something?" He asked in a weary tone. "Stop being a  _child_ , Stanley, tell me it's you!" 

He couldn't. 

"I want you to come with me." Ford whispered. "I think I work better when you're around." 

His tears stung, so he blinked them out. The trails they left on his cheeks were very warm. He took away his palm, and passed the tip of his tongue over his lips. 

"Stan?" 

"...I.." Stan croaked, then slammed down the receiver to hang up. He took off his glasses and buried his face in his hands, jamming the heels of his palms up into his eyes like he could physically press hard enough to stop the tears. His teeth clenched into a grimace, and he slid down the wall with kitschy, peeling floral wallpaper and hid his downturned mouth in his kneecaps. He curled up into himself, shoulders shaking, his sobs not making a sound.

All of that; the nights he spent squinting at rows and rows of numbers under a blacklight, how he'd have to massage his palm and pull at his knuckles when he'd been writing for hours without a break. All of that was for nothing, because he was too afraid to say more than a single syllable to the brother he hadn't spoken to in years. 

He felt pathetic. 

What was he going to tell Rick? If he admitted to wimping out, he could just see Rick restraining him and dialing him up himself. Disposing of the papers wasn't going to work either. Stan had a sneaking suspicion that when Rick saw a phone number once, he'd easily remember it again. Maybe he'd even retain it forever. 

Stan didn't know why he was so afraid to speak to him. But the ciphers also revealed an address, so if he ever could bring himself to do it, maybe he'd go to Oregon. Maybe he'd bring Rick with him. 

Rick meeting Ford. Like that could ever possibly go over well. 

Despite everything, Stan let out a thick laugh that burbled out of him and sort of turned into a broken sob.  _Someday. Not today,_  he reassured himself. One day.

Stan sat back against the wall with the phone on it, sighing up to the ceiling. He craved for his mind to be numbed again, dumbed down, that flat, one-dimensional feeling of living only in the present moment that only alcohol could give him. He felt like maybe he understood Rick just a little more as he wallowed in that feeling for a little while longer before climbing to his feet, ready to go and raid the nearest liquor store.

“You look like someone just kicked your puppy.” Rick knocked the door behind him closed with his hip when he came back from his band practice, the hem of his blue tee-shirt dampened from sweat. “What? Did you—oh. You called your brother?!”

“Rick.” Stan slumped over himself at the barstool at their kitchen counter, his brown eyes shiny and pink as he looked at Rick with a crushed, hangdog expression. “I want to get really, really drunk again.”

“Yeah, me every waking moment of my fucking life too, buddy.” Rick made his way into the apartment and shouldered his electric guitar off of his back, propping it up on the backrest of the couch. “Well, get a move on, then. Happy hours are ending soon.”

*   *   *

“ _Fuuuuck_ that bouncer,” Stan groaned, he and Rick had their arms firmly wrapped around one another, shuffling along the snow-dusted sidewalks to get home in the dark, just the cadmium street lamps and the occasional sweep of headlights guiding their way. Their body types were almost the exact opposite from one another, but it seemed to work just fine if they both leaned in toward the center. Alcohol sloshed in Rick’s hand, he strangled the neck of the small bottle of whiskey he’d snagged from behind the bar and stuffed into his crotch before they’d bolted, when Stan was enough of a distraction when he took a swing at the man kicking him out of the bar.

“I’mmm’not even that fuggin’ drunk.” Stan griped, his long hair falling messily into his eyes as he leaned further into Rick’s support, fingers biting into Rick’s shoulder, Stan pressed his face up against the side of Rick’s head. “You’d back me up, right, pal? ‘Mnot even that drunk.” He muttered slurrily into his ear.

Rick tipped back his bottle again with a loud slosh, swallowing several burning gulps and burping loudly. “Yeeah, y-you’re a-okay in my—urrrp—my book, Stan the man.”

“I _know_. Fuggit, I-I want my money back!” Stan complained loudly enough, shaking his fist at the sky, for someone in the apartments to open their shutter with a loud bang.

“It’s two in the morning, asshole! Put a sock in it!” A hysterical female voice carried out to them in the street.

“I know whhhehere you can put a sock!” Stan stopped dead in his tracks, squinting up at the window high above with the yellow light on in the rectangle. “Riiiiiight up your ass and around the corner, bitch!”

“Don’t make me make my husband come down there!”

Rick chuckled as he had to wrap his arms around his torso, as Stan began to tip back, dangerously close to losing his balance as he looked up at the window high overhead. “Go ahead! I’ll open up a can o’ whoop ass on the muuuthurfucker!” Stan right bellowed back. “The likes ov’which the pussy’s never seen!”

“Stan, sh-hhh-hhaha, come on!” Rick hissed, tearing him away from his spot and getting his legs moving again, hustling him down the street. He was mainly the driving force actually making them get anywhere. Stan stumbled, laughing at himself. “You can’t even stand straight right now.”

“I’d kick his ass,” Stan grumbled, leaning heavily onto Rick with his arm crooked around his neck. “You _know_ I’d kick his fuggin’ ass.”

“I know, Brawny, I—urrrp—I know.” Rick looped his arm right back around him again and jostled him playfully.

“Stan, I gotta—I hafta ask you another kinda weird question.” Rick burped, halting the two of them with a palm along the front of Stan's chest. 

“ _What_ ,” Stan croaked, clapping his hand over Rick’s on the bottle and sucking back a little more for himself, then hanging his head to his chest and smacking his lips.

 “Do you, y’know? Spit shine the ol’ water pump? Y’know, w-w-wax the candlestick?” Rick stammered, poking the end of the bottle into his mouth right after. Some of Stan’s saliva still clung to it, viscous and warm. “Do the five-knuckle sh-shuffle?”

“Do I… huh?” Stan’s head swam, and he gave in to resting his head against Rick’s. “Ugh. _Thinking_ hurts right now.”

“Do you, y’know… get yourself off?” Rick asked, his voice dipping low as he spoke secretly into Stan’s ear. “I’ve never heard you, ever, or—“ Rick’s tongue peeked out and ran across his lips. “I dunno. Just had a feeling about it. You _do_ , right?”

Stan lifted his eyes to meet Rick’s, they were also pinkish and dry from drinking, he pressed his lips into a line. His face was flushed from the double-whammy of the biting cold and the alcohol, his nose and a strip on his cheeks especially a bright blush. His eyes flicked to the sidewalk, and slowly he shook his head.

“Not really,” Stan spoke in a hushed voice.

“C’mon, guh-gimme ballpark numbers here. How many times a week?” 

Stan continued to shake his head back and forth, giving up and taking the whiskey again, knocking back the last few trickles of it into his mouth, the bottom tipped all the way back to the deep night sky.

“A _month_?” Rick’s voice gave away his astonishment, and he gripped onto Stan’s shoulder hard. “Dude!”

“I dunno.” Stan looked away and balled his hands into fists, he attempted to shove Rick off of him, but he was too uncoordinated to stand on his own and he stumbled badly. “I dunno, okay? Convers—convsseration _over_.”

 “Hey, hey, don’t… don’t be like that, Lee.” Rick pressed his hands to his arms again, holding him up, and Stan easily gave up and ducked his head to rest on Rick’s shoulder. “It was just a dumb question.”

“ ‘s not dumb.” Stan sighed, rubbing at his eyes, and then lobbed the empty glass bottle far into a dark alley, where they heard the glass shatter loudly. He looked at Rick again, his sad eyes giving everything away. “Rick, I… I think there’s somethin’ wrong with me.”

“Stan.” Rick leaned in closer and trailed the tips of his fingers to the sideburn in front of Stan’s ear. “Look. I-I asked c-cuz I wanna teach you. It won’t be gaaaay or wh- _urrp!--_ whatever. We’ll go _back to back_. You won’t see anything, promise. I’ll tell you all my tr—tricks of the trade, in real time. Yu-you in?” 

“Back to back,” Stan repeated, squinting into Rick’s face, quite a bit of floppy hair still in his face. “Hmm. Yeah, alright.” He decided easily, as if someone just asked if he’d like a piece of their food.

“Yeah?” Rick parroted, his pitch rising, a little too enthusiastic, clapping his hand to Stan’s shoulder. “Well, _damn_ , okay. Nice. It’ll be cool, Brawny, promise.”

That was how Stan found himself sitting on in his bed, quite drunk, feeling Rick’s boney spine digging into his back. They’d stumbled inside together, shred all the snowy cold-weather clothing off at the door, Stan chugged down water while Rick went into the bathroom to stick a finger down his throat. Stan heard the retches, wet splashing and guttural burps, until Rick finally came back out, then pointed at Stan’s bed.

 “Okay, le-let’s do this— _urrp_ \--thing.” Rick had burped, cracking his back.

The warm weight against Stan’s back was weird, but somehow really reassuring at the same time. Rick’s torso wasn’t actually too much taller than Stan’s, most of the height difference seemed to lie with Rick’s legs. The height difference worked pretty well, Stan’s head rested perfectly against the back of Rick’s skull.

Stan leaned his left shoulder to the wall and rested most of his weight there, he kept his right hand free. He heard a plastic-sounding pop and the sound of something wheezing out of an almost-empty bottle.

“Gimme your hand,” Rick said, and Stan extended his hand backwards. He felt something gooey plop into his palm. His vision was swimming from the booze, and he inspected the clear and shiny substance in his hand.

“Follow my lead, here, Brawny.” Rick’s instructions carried over to Stan, it felt weird to hear him speaking over his shoulder but only feel the weight of his back against him, to just be looking at the wall and the window in his room. “Spread this lube alllll over your Johnson. Nice and even coat.” 

Stan shimmied his pants down, drew his cock out of them, and did exactly as Rick said. It was slippery, it made everything a lot smoother. He leaned back against Rick, their hair and backs of their skulls pressing up against one another. The room still felt a little spinny, but not in a bad way. He liked the softened edges it gave the world, the liquid courage of it.

“Nice and slow, first.” Rick’s voice came from right over his shoulder. “Go ahead, Stan. Stroke yourself, nice and slow.”

Stan leaned up against Rick’s back, he felt really reassured by that touch. He nearly sighed because of it, but held it back. Rick was going to guide him through this, through everything.

Stan hesitated, brushing his fingers over the pink head, barely touching. He bit his lip and did it again, a little bolder this time, curling the pads of his fingers along the curve and following the shaft to the base, feeling the thick burr of hair brush against his hand, down to where it joined with his body, and then back up. He couldn’t actually remember the last time he’d done this. The lube made it glide well, and Stan did it again. The sensation felt dull, he could only feel a soft heat, but nothing more.

 He closed his eyes, and sighed quietly in frustration in contrast to Rick’s sigh of bliss. It wasn’t long before Stan could hear Rick next to him, and hear his quiet, fleshy slaps, feel him pulsing against him. _Holy shit. I’m really doing this right now,_ Stan thought, and continued to stroke without much progress. _Rick is really masturbating with me_. Rick was _there_ , right at his back, getting himself off right next to him. And Stan actually kind of liked it. 

He kept trying, dipping down to the base and letting the dark hairs there brush against his hand and then back up, to the top, down again, he watched as the pink head fell in and out of his fist. The motion was right, right? But sensation was dulled, the waves of pleasure he could recall having sometimes in the past with Carla weren’t there. Stan let out a soft groan of frustration again.

“Faster, now. More pressure.” Rick grunted from over his shoulder again, huffing. Stan could feel the way his head rotated against the back of his, Rick was looking off to the side, like he was trying to look at Stan before realizing he wouldn’t be able to. “Don’t be afraid to squeeze your cock. You feel that? _Hhhfff_. Good, yeah?”

“I can’t--- it’s not working.” Stan gritted his teeth in frustration and kept trying, listening to the wet slaps coming from Rick and doing his best to match the same pace, but it just wasn’t happening. Stan arched further over his body, now only the small of his back was pressed to Rick, going even faster than the pace that Rick was setting. It still didn’t feel great, and he was only half-hard.

“Now, when I say, Stan, press your thumb to the head, okay. Right onto your uri—th—ahhhh, haha. _Oooh_ , that’s--” Rick puffed and moaned. For some reason, Stan really wished he could see his face, see the way his teeth interlocked, the expression he’d be wearing.

“ _Ughh_ … Rick. I _can’t_. It’s not--”

 “It’s just the booze,” Rick huffed, sounding quite breathy himself as the wet slapping, nearly frantic noises continued. “Just—keep going. The booze makes it harder to get it up. Keep going.”

“I can’t,” Stan let go in defeat, slumping over himself. Rick leaned further back against him, making obscene grunts of pleasure, keens, and moans, before Stan could feel the way his muscles all clenched up against his back and Rick moaned deeply, coughs of pleasure turning into small chuckles of joy. His head flopped backwards to Stan’s shoulder, Rick’s breaths puffed and ruffled Stan’s hair.

“Hooo, oh boy.” Rick huffed and regained his breath. “Mmm-hmm. Yup, check mark, the ol’ plumbing still works.”

“Did you just--?” Stan asked, hating how he couldn’t turn around to see for himself. It was very quiet, and Stan realized Rick could probably hear that he wasn’t touching himself anymore.

“What the fu-- Stan, did you _stop_?” Rick broke their unspoken, back-to-back rule and wedged himself next to Stan, and suddenly they were looking into each other’s eyes again. Rick’s face was flushed and a little sweaty, the fact that he’d just found release almost too obvious. Stan was very aware of how close they were, of Rick’s nakedness as all he wore was his lab coat and dark ankle socks, how he smelled like sex and semen. How he’d heard every sound, how he’d been touching his back as Rick pleasured himself. As Stan touched himself, too. Stan’s cheeks glowed warm with a blush.

There was a moment when neither of them spoke to one another, their eyes flicking across each other’s features, both a little slack-jawed as they tried to understand the attraction to one another that they were experiencing. Rick’s eyes drooped in a lustful way, he ran his tongue along his lip and curled his hand around the back of Stan’s neck, which was misted with sweat.

 “You want me to…uh…?” Rick asked with a quirked eyebrow, swiping his thumb along a knob of vertebrae at the back of his neck.

 Stan nodded, enamored again as he looked to Rick with his eyes half-closed, answering a question that hadn’t even been finished. His eyes fell all the way closed, and he drooped forward into Rick’s embrace, hiding his face in the crook of his neck.

“ _Fuuuck_.” Stan groaned in frustration. “How the hell did you _do_ that? Come so goddamn fast?”

Rick nudged Stan in the chest with his fingertips, encouraging him to lay on his back, and he stripped his pants off of him.

“We’re gonna get you to come _right now_ even if it fucking kills me,” Rick nearly growled, his fingertips skimming Stan’s sensitive inner thigh as his other stayed firmly wrapped at the back of his neck.

Stan chuckled and nodded again, and Rick repositioned, slipping behind Stan and extending his knobby legs along either side of him. Stan could feel his flaccid dick pressed up against his lower back, and he leaned backward into Rick. Rick wrapped his arms around his torso like a hug.

“Yeah,” Stan’s voice rumbled low. “Show me.”

 “Just relax,” Rick whispered. “I got you.”

His hands sunk lower, skimming along his stomach, rubbing at his hipbones and then sliding along his upper thighs. Stan sighed, he extended his head back until he could feel it rest on the shelf of Rick’s shoulder, he turned his face into Rick’s warm chin and neck, pressing his closed eyes against the skin. He could feel Rick’s pulse throb against his forehead.

“Touch me already,” Stan breathed. In this position, Stan let his body sink into Rick’s and relax.

“Okay, _okay_. Bossy.” Rick chuckled, his hands continued to wander for a moment more as they dragged down his stomach, across his hips, dipped down and then wrapped gently around the base of his cock. Stan hummed softly at the touch, as Rick’s free arm squeezed around his chest gently, reassuring.

“Now. Like _this_ ,” Rick whispered into his ear, smushing his cheek up affectionately to the top of Stan’s head, holding him close to him with his left arm. He stroked Stan upward, his hand glided very smoothly. He started making achingly slow pulls from the base to the tip, then back down. He pushed his thumb over the head, smearing the pearl of precum all over the slit and around the reddened crown. “This shit ri— _urrp_ —right here? A fuckin’ art form.”

Rick’s hand felt so different than his own: it was noticeably smaller, much more dexterous, it was a cooler temperature. Stan realized his hand was coated with the leftovers of his own lube, but there was something about the texture that felt different than what Rick had put into his hand, it was thicker, and a lot warmer. Stan looked down at his dick pumping in and out of Rick’s hand—the lube he’d used earlier was clear, and this was whiter.

 _He’s using his cum_ , Stan realized with a jolt. From when he’d leaned backwards over Stan and moaned through his release, just a moment ago. He realized that sort of made his dick twitch in Rick’s grasp.

“Hmmm, what were you just thinking? What got you?” Rick’s voice wasn’t one Stan was used to; it was smooth like chocolate, low and sultry in his ear.

“You’re using your cum,” Stan’s voice rumbled softly as he spoke into Rick’s throat. “Right?”

 “Good guess.” Rick couldn’t help but chuckle, but he sounded impressed. His hand pumped again, he slid the pad of his thumb across the slit at the top, and Stan sputtered a gasp at the zing of sensation. “It is. And guess what?”

Rick’s nose nudged against Stan’s ear, his hot breath tickled into the canal. “I thought about you when I came, when I made this, what I’m using on you right now. I thought about you, bending me over and fucking me hard. Right over there at that kitchen counter. Your cock in between my legs, pumping hard and fast into me.”

A little punch of breath came up from Stan’s throat, he panted softly and reached out to hold Rick’s pale, hairy thigh that squeezed him on both sides, his fingers dimpling into it as he gripped on hard.

Rick slid his hand along his shaft faster now, and Stan felt the first partly-there wave of pleasure pass over him. He could feel himself get warmer and pliable, Rick’s touch making him go all melty, his shoulders sinking down. 

Stan melted further back into Rick’s embrace, his head lolling and finding support under Rick’s chin. He parted his lips and felt his breathing increase as Rick continued to stroke him, faster. An electric sensation pulsed itself through Stan, and he moaned softly. The rumble of pleasure started between his hips, low-grade fever heat, lapping at him like waves. Rick took that as an indication to start picking up the pace, and soon Stan heard that wet, fleshy beat coming from his own body. The pressure was building— 

Stan huffed hard, his lips parted open. Rick nudged at his temple with his nose, his breaths rifling through his hair. Stan reached up and wrapped his other hand around Rick’s arm, his other still gripping to his thigh.

“Feels good?” Rick whispered into his ear, and Stan nodded a few times. Stan took a little bit of time to find his voice, he thought he’d said something but all that came out was a shaky moan of pleasure. “Y— It’s good, yeah. Really g— _uhhh_. So good, Rick,  _hnnnm_. Oh, fuck.” 

“Yeah, moan some more. I wanna hear you.” Rick whispered. “So fucking hot. You’re so fucking hot.” His words weren’t much more than his exhales. Stan could feel Rick’s hardening cock pressed up to the curve of his ass as they rocked together. 

“Think about something.” Rick suggested, panting, both of them canting backward and then thrusting forward together. They tipped forward, legs tangled together, Stan’s arms down in plank position with his forehead pressed up against the mattress. Rick held him with one arm and bent over him, jerking him hard and fast under the two of them. Rick’s cock rode along with the friction, sometimes catching and slipping just above Stan’s asscrack, sometimes dipping just barely into it. Stan let out a twisted grunt and hid his flushing face into the blankets, balling his fist into the sheets. “Whatever you want. Girls, guys, aliens, who the fuck cares. Think about _something_ , Stan.”

Stan knew what he wanted. Why get a mental image, when he was right there behind him, touching him like this?

“I… want to see you,” Stan pulled his face away from the blanket and rotated it just enough to the side to see a partial picture of Rick bending him over, he saw their hairy legs tangled together, Rick’s hand working hard at his cock.

“Face me.” Stan whispered, twisting his hands in the sheets and moaning.

“Ri--Really?” Rick whispered in reply, his voice tinged with insecurity. His hand stilled, and finally he let go and Rick pushed gently at his shoulder, willing him to roll to the side. Stan groaned at the absence and cupped himself, touching and squeezing softly, laying flat on his back.

Stan’s breath caught in his throat when he saw Rick’s face for the first time during this whole ordeal, the first time since he'd slipped up behind him. Rick walked on his hands to perch over Stan, knees sinking deeply into the mattress, his cheeks were misted with perspiration and he was flushing hard, it was hard to tell at first because of how deeply brown his eyes were, but when Rick's face came even closer Stan saw how wide his pupils had stretched. _God, those eyes_. Stan loved their familiar shape, their lashes, how they looked dry and pink when he was drunk, or _really_ pink when he was high, the enlightened look in them as he chased equations with them-- _That pair of **eyes**._

Rick shooed Stan’s hand away from himself, slipping his fingers around his cock again, and continued to pump. Rick’s own hardness poked and dragged against Stan’s thigh, and Stan couldn’t help but reach up and wrap his thick arms around him, fist his hair, draw him even closer as he rolled his hips into Rick’s hand, gasping hard.

Their faces were only inches apart, Rick's lips hung just barely parted, while Stan's mouth was fully agape. They rutted against each other, and Rick’s free hand snaked back behind Stan’s head and gripped his hair too, the tugging on his roots prickled. Their foreheads bumped and smushed against each other's, and both of their eyelids drooped closed as their heated breaths brushed each other's faces. 

And _wow,_ Stan realized. This wasn't masturbating anymore, back-to-back, not even looking at one another. This was something else entirely now. And Stan was sort of loving every second of it. 

"I gotcha, Stan." Rick panted, tugging fast at Stan's cock with expert pulls, his lanky limbs hooked around Stan, pressing the two of them up close together. "You've gotta be close, right?" 

“Keep— _hhh_ , keep going.” Stan huffed, struggling to speak, his breathing ragged, he tossed his head from one side to the other, his hips bucking up into Rick’s hand. “A-Almost, _hhffhh_ , almost there.”

“ _Fuck yesss_ ,” Rick hissed, his voice just behind his ear, his hands echoing his enthusiasm as Stan felt the pressure and pace increase even more. The rising pressure felt good, pleasure lapping over him. Rick’s body surrounded him in just the right way, his skin was so warm where it pressed up against him. He could feel his orgasm building up fast, heat pooling out from his stomach and tingling in his fingers. The jolts of pleasure became so intense they were almost pain. 

Stan groaned loudly, picking up the pace, hips pistoning quick to fuck up into Rick’s curled hand.

“Come on. Almost there,” Rick whispered into his ear, pressing his lips over to his hair again. “Let yourself go. I’m right here, Stan. I got you.” 

Stan finally released with a cough-like groan, cock leaping, white spurting out all over his thighs, spilling out over Rick’s hand and to his Rick’s stomach. The tension left his body, he melted even further back into the bed, feeling boneless, huffing hard. Rick wrapped his legs and arms around him, pressing kiss after kiss to his hair, his face, his feverishly hot neck.

“W-We can be _both_ ,” Rick said softly into his hair, stroking his hips in circles, dragging his hands all over his body as he shuddered with the residual pleasure. “The other night, wh-when you blacked out, you told me... I-I know you don’t want to lose me as your friend. You don’t have to.” 

Stan’s head flopped to the side and he worked on regaining his breath. He’d sobered up a lot since they’d first started, and he easily felt the absence of that liquefied courage.

They both just panted, Rick laying on top of Stan for a moment before rolling off.

They looked up at the ceiling, side by side, both draped like they were boneless, chests heaving.

 “…This was a mistake.” Stan said quietly after a moment. He felt the hot stickiness of his own seed on his thigh, his breathing still hard and irregular. He pulled away, slipping away from Rick's side and sitting at the edge of the mattress.

“Stan--- _Stanley_ , wait.” Rick clambered up and scooted to the edge of the bed himself. “What are—what do you mean?”

Stan’s heart thumped harder. Rick approached him slowly, his own brows crumpling at Stan’s confused expression. Rick reached out and caressed his jaw, slipping his fingertips just underneath, dragging with a soft hush along the stubble. Stan sighed softly and his eyes pinched shut, his brows pinched with want. Rick sat next to him and cupped just under his jaw, slipping his fingers into his hair and pressing over his ear, smudging his thumb back and forth against the angle of his jawbone. Their outer thighs pressed together.

“What do you want, Stan?” Rick asked, smudging his thumb again. “ _Friends_ don’t get each other off. You know that, right?”

“I want…” Stan hesitated, then nudged Rick’s hand away. He turned away, staring into the far corner of the room with his brows furrowed. “I don't know. We should pretend this never happened.” He hiked his boxers back up his legs, then climbed to his feet and started making his way to the bathroom.

“Stan-- well, w-we can still be friends, y’know, if you _want_ to, as the baseline. It’s just— building up from there. We can be _both_!” Rick tried to explain with a few vague hand motions before he got up, swore and fished his own tighty whities off of the floor and yanked them on. He trailed behind Stan to the bathroom door, lab coat fluttering behind him, stammering the whole way. “Friends at the foundation, see, it just—it can, we can-- start going _up_ from there.”

“I mean, it’s not like… w-we don’t have to _tell_ people about us. Or anything. I don’t--” Rick argued, throwing his arms out for emphasis. Stan didn’t seem to be listening. “Stan--- come on. The cold shoulder? Seriously?!”

Stan looked over his shoulder and finally slowly turned around, leaning some of his weight to the bathroom doorframe and crossing his arms over his chest. Rick stopped in his tracks too, giving up and letting his expressive arms fall to his sides with a smack. 

“I’m.” Rick began, biting down on his teeth. He pushed his fingers through the hairs at the crown of his head, sweeping his hand along the back of his head, and let out a tense puff of air through his nostrils. “I’m. So...  _fucking_ attracted to you, Stan.”

Stan’s lids hooded his eyes as he trained his gaze to the floor, he let his head flop the short distance to knock against the frame too. “I just... I think I need time,” Stan’s voice rumbled and he just looked at Rick with a strained expression, brows pinched upward.

“O-Oh,” Rick’s expression fell, his body sagged as well.

“Yeah. Time.” Stan echoed again, not sure if that sounded right. He dipped his head and avoided Rick’s eyes, turning to the side, he let his overgrown hair hang over his eyes. He took the thin wooden door in hand, and closed it slowly. It clicked into the latch, and Stan stood right next to the door staring at the knob. He could just barely make out his stretched and skewed reflection in it.

 _What am I doing?_ He thought, leaning back and letting the back of his head fall to the wall. He thought about the dirty things that Rick had whispered into his ear, or when the two of them panted and rutted together, facing each other, fingers fisted in each other’s hair. Rick’s gentle drags of his fingers on his skin, the skim of fingernails to his scalp, the soft presses of the kisses on his neck, below his jaw. Stan wasn’t just a quick fuck to him, was he?

_I’m so fucking attracted to you._

“Rick,” Stan said quietly, still positioned right up next to the door, and cleared his throat.

“Um. Rick,” He said again more into the seam of the door, a little louder this time.

"Open up, Stanley. Pl-please." Rick's voice came from the other side of the door.

Stan turned the knob and pulled the door open towards himself, a stripe of light from the bathroom falling onto Rick. He'd leaned onto the frame with his face hidden in the crook of his elbow, just one shiny brown eye peeked out at Stan. Stan still caught that glimpse before he’d started to sport his typical ‘I couldn’t care less’ scowl. A glimpse of Rick’s brows pinched together, eye sad and vulnerable.

“I. Uh.” Stan couldn’t find the words to say right away. Rick pulled away from the door and just stood there. Stan's eyes roamed over Rick, over his skinny pole legs, his defined ribs and nearly concave chest, his tuft of wild hair. He looked sort of funny wearing white underpants, black socks and that long lab coat over everything.

Rick kept that stiff scowl on his face. “Well? Something you wanna say? Or should I just go knock back a Alprazolam now and p-pass out face-first on my bed?” 

“I’ll--- um. I guess I’ll see you in the morning, Rick.” Stan said quietly, keeping his hand curled over the side of the door. He couldn’t be bothered to brush away some of the hair that fell into his face, he kept his gaze locked downward.

Rick trained his eyes to the floor too, he locked his arm in a bar over his stomach and gripped onto his elbow. 

"Yeah." Rick finally bit out, his teeth more or less locked together. " 'Night."

 

Stan turned on the hot water knob with a creak, and waited by the door for the stream of water to heat up. Even when the room filled and hung heavy with steam, it took a little while longer for Stan to move away from the door. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought of the Rick natural selection theory after I ate.... a LOT of weed chocolate. My apologies if it doesn't actually make any sense or has plot holes, haha!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dear Abby,  
> I stole a football from a stadium yesterday, and that somehow led to losing my virginity?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is NSFW, both written and with fanart. Explicit content includes fingering and anal sex.  
> This is part 1, and Chapter 15 is part 2!

Stan got up early for once, and hit the streets around seven in the morning. He tried to get out the door without a single glance towards Rick's bed at the window, but he failed. He just had to look, and Rick was fast asleep, face-first on his bed, lab coat riding up his back just enough to see the pale globes of his bare ass. He wasn't close enough to see, but Stan knew he was probably drooling, too. 

Last night was hazy around the edges, but he more or less could remember the progression of events. Calling his brother and being unable to say a single word, nursing a bottle of wine until Rick came home, and they went out to a bar, got thrown out, walked home in the cold, and...

"Thanks." Stan grumbled when the warm paper cup was thrust into his hand from his favorite place for a cup of cheap, black coffee. He slugged back the first near-boiling gulp and rubbed his eyes, trying to shake the hangover. He walked aimlessly, following a loose zig-zag pattern along the streets. The air was more brisk and less freezing, and he loved feeling the breeze on the back of his neck. 

Trees were growing their leaves back. He could actually see individual leaves now, if he made an effort to wear his glasses. It was kind of cool to see that, he couldn't remember the last time his vision was good enough to. He secretly knew that he'd needed them ever since Ford did. He couldn't believe how much he'd been missing out on the whole time. Stan tried to spot the signs of someone barely paying attention, letting his legs work subconsciously and pull him along, one step at a time. 

_Stan_ could barely pay attention. His mind kept going back to it-- knotting his fingers deeply into Rick's wild hair, the breath puffing against his face, the rapid sounds of both of their harsh breathing overlapping one another. How it felt to orgasm wrapped up in Rick's hand, arms and limbs entwined, _warmth_ , the kisses pressed to his neck, the thumb caressing his jaw. Rick's eyes with their huge, dilated pupils. 

_I got you_ , he remembered Rick whispering into his ear. _I'm right here._  

Stan tipped back another gulp of steaming, bitter coffee and clapped at his cheek. 

"Wake up, Pines." He urged under his breath at himself, frustrated. "Pull your head out of your ass." 

He needed money. Every single stash hidden around the apartment was running real low, it was only sad-looking dirty coins instead of bills in most of his hiding places by now. 

Stan had been using his same foolproof method for years. Well, actually since he'd moved from the East Coast to the West and the laws here had never had their drinking age fall any lower than 21. The plan had never failed him. He would target and pick-pocketed wallets from people that looked low to mid twenties, because then he could also bum their ID's off to some of the kids he knew so well from local high school parties. A few times he'd even catch look-alikes on the street and follow them for a few blocks just to snag it. The teens were overjoyed that he'd gone to those kind of lengths for them, and that meant a big tip most of the time. Even if the wallet had no money, he'd could always depend on making a ton just off of the ID. 

He'd snagged three, and on the fourth he had his first real score in a very long time, because the wallet he'd slipped easy as pie out of a man's pocket on the street outside of a laundromat had two end zone tickets to a football game. In a _real sports colosseum_ and everything. He'd hadn't been to something like that since he was five, probably. One of those father-sons bonding things, and Ford had hated every single second of it. And after that, every other game he'd watch was in cement or rickety wooden bleachers.

He couldn't wait to throw peanuts into people's beers a few rows below them, or accidentally-on-purpose make nice-looking dudes spill their drinks and buy them new ones, maybe get into a scrappy fight or two and just get so belligerently wasted together that hopefully, they'd get thrown out just before the very end of the game. He was smiling just thinking about it now, as he rushed home on gum-spotted and stained sidewalks. That would break the awkwardness between the two of them, it just had to. You couldn't be unhappy at a live football game. In a _real sports colosseum_. 

It was funny how something dumb like tickets could lift his spirits so much. Knowing Rick, he'd probably refuse to go. He'd probably have to drag him out of the door. Rick would stick out like a sore thumb with his stupid BDSM leather rocker shit he loved wearing all of the time. Stan chuckled. That might make the game all the more interesting, right? 

The apartment stunk horribly, something chemically, that Stan could even smell it through the door. He unlocked each lock and tried to push his way in, but the door resisted against the towel shoved in the crack underneath it. Rick whipped around to see who'd come in: he was over the stove, and from what Stan could see fat, bluish-purple crystals were sprouting from the sides of one of his favorite cooking pots.

"Close the door, quick!" Rick snapped at him. "If anyone in this complex gets a whiff of this stuff and knows what it is, I'm toast. Well, not that they _should_ know what it is. This stuff is mainly from the moon-planet Haldancohn, but--" 

Stan shut the door quickly behind him and bolted it, and secured the towel back in place. So, _this_ was how they were going to do it. Rick was going to do exactly what he'd said and just pretend like nothing had happened last night. Even though that's what Stan said he wanted, it still sort of stung. 

"This towel is doing a really shitty job, though. Damn, that stuff reeks. What is that?" Stan played his role right back. 

"Nothing. Nothing you should worry about, I mean." Rick flitted around the kitchen, fumbling over his ingredients. "It's just for a gig. I finally got the materials today, Squanchy's gonna  flip ." 

"So, uh." Stan leaned on the doorframe leading into the kitchen, near their phone on the wall. "I went walking this morning and snagged a wallet from some guy today, it has two end zone tickets to a football game. If, you know.  _Eheerm_ . You, uh, want to come with me. The game's  in two days." 

Rick looked up from his work on the stove with raised eyebrows and a 'you-know-me-better-than-that' peeved expression. "What about me screams 'I love football' to you, Stan?" Rick, always so full of snark. "I've seen some crazy shit on other planets. They know how to do colosseum  _right_. You think man versus lion is entertaining? They've got creatures at each other's throats that are so big you could carve out a tooth and  _live_ in it. I've seen aliens get ripped limb from limb, regenerate those limbs, and then have it happen again. I've seen blood on every color on the UV spectrum, and then some. They sometimes give you special glasses just to see it. So, why would I be interested in some dumb humans headbutting each other and giving themselves concussions over one stupid ball that doesn't even have a will of its own?" 

Stan shrugged. "Cuz I asked." He said gruffly, he was holding the two tickets in his hand and didn't even realize he didn't put them back into the wallet since he'd discovered them.

Rick tapped a crystal, which made a bell-like ring much louder than Stan thought would be possible for something the size of his pinky toe, and chewed on his lower lip from a second, thinking. 

"Fine." Rick agreed, taking tweezers and prying the quartz-like growth off of the side of the pan with some difficulty. "But you're buying all my booze, then." He added with gritted teeth, then propped his foot up on the lower cupboard and continued to wrestle with it. Stan's heart gave a little skip and then felt sort of like it was soaring-- this would be _fun_. 

"Cool. Then, it's a date." Stan shoved the tickets back into the stolen brown leather wallet and shuffled to his room before Rick could make another snarky comeback about that. 

Stan just really missed just hanging out with Rick, doing stupid shit together with one of his best friends. 

Well, this game was sort of Stan's idea of a dream date. 

*   *   *

 "So, the rule is, every row away from us is another dollar. Beers are five, but if you get it in a mixed drink it's ten since they're more expensive at the bar. If you get a tit shot, fifteen bucks. Asscrack shot, twenty." Stan held up his peanut, almost to examine it, before chucking it back into the large bucket he carried. Rick was sulking like a wet cat as he walked in step next to him, as they found their seats from the concession stands.

"Everyone here looks just like you except most of them are older and fatter. Even the chicks look like female versions of you." Rick said moodily, not giving a single shit who overheard him. "And you know that I can calculate trajectories mentally, right? I'm gonna wipe the floor with you with this peanut thing." Rick smirked at him, and Stan couldn't help but smile toothily back. 

At the very least, Rick was wearing a proper baseball cap that Stan let him borrow, just so that maybe he'd have one item of clothing so that he could 'fit in'. Other than that, it was exactly what Stan would have expected from him. Black jeans so tight they looked like they'd been painted on with slashed up thighs, a belt buckle with a shiny white skull, and a dark grey cropped top that flashed more than generous amounts of stomach with some obscure alien language on it that fit him terribly, probably because the aliens who'd sold the concert shirt weren't too familiar with human anatomy. 

They found their seats, wading through the rows of knees and legs. On the way, Stan had managed to snag two wallets and some cash from the pockets of some pretty drunk guys, easy as pie. He was already feeling pretty giddy about that.

Stan plopped down and squinted hard at the field, visoring his eyes. They weren't super close, but hey. The tickets were "free", weren't they? 

"Don't be-- _ourrrp_ \--stupid, put your fuckin' glasses on." Rick's hand slipped intimately into Stan's pocket and fished out the folded pair, and he did the honors of slipping the frames onto his face. "So _what_ if you look like a nerd. I look weirder. So just--" Rick waved vaguely down at the field.  

Stan pinched the corner of his glasses and wriggled to adjusted them on the bridge of his nose, shooting Rick one of his softer smiles again.  

"And _don't_ look at me like that." Rick muttered under his breath, put up a pointer finger in warning and crossed his arms over his chest, spreading out his pole-thin legs as he sprawled out like some kind of angsty teen, his washboard stomach with its trail of dyed-blue hairs stretched into view. Rick was right-- almost everyone was looking at him, not at Stan, who still felt a little insecure about wearing his glasses for anything but reading. 

"I've had gallons of alien blood splashed on me like I was at a fucking Shamu show." Rick leaned in and spoke directly into Stan's ear. The tip of his cap bumped against Stan's skull. "Just so you know, there's nothing that can happen here that could ever impress me." 

"Just shut the fuck up, do me a favor, and at least pretend like you want to be here." Stan shot back. "And I'm making good on my promise to buy you beers, alright?" 

Rick pointed to his brimming cup of yellow foamy beer, a bit splashing out over the rim at the movement. "So, consider this thing bottomless?" 

"Consider it bottomless." Stan rolled his eyes, smiling toothily. 

"Gimme one of those peanuts." Rick put his hand out palm-up, and Stan placed a double peanut on it. For a second, he actually felt like maybe it was a bad idea to bring up the peanut game with a supergenius who already had calculated how to get into space, or how to make portals across dimensions. Crap, Rick actually _was_ going to wipe the floor with him, wasn't he?

"Five rows down, one o' clock." Rick bobbed his head toward the direction, and Stan saw it right away. A huge, pale, glue-white ass, spilling out from over his khaki pants like rising dough. And he was showing probably inches worth of hairy ass crack. 

"Watch this." Rick bent his arm at the elbow a few times to test the shot, then the peanut went sailing, flying in a parabola directly into the slit. The man yelped and shot up out of his seat, shoving his hand down the back of his pants and digging around. When he found the peanut he whipped around in a rage, his face a bright red. Everyone close to him shrugged and denied. He still lifted the person with the least believable shrug up by the front of his shirt, spit flying as he shouted. 

"Shit." Stan was frozen in place, his hand stopped mid-way for reaching for a peanut for himself. Rick put his palm out once more, and without complaint Stan slapped a twenty into it. Whatever, he'd stolen it about fifteen minutes ago anyway. Rick pocketed it smugly.

"Game's off." Stan grumbled, still slightly in shock. He gaped at the angry, red-faced guy. 

"Yeah, I figured." Rick snickered back. 

Stan kind of hated that because of Rick's comments, he couldn't really see football as anything so exciting anymore. Maybe it would be more fun with lasers, or swords, or a sentient football that could run or fly on its own. Still, they sort-of watched as they got into petty hijinks. Stan showed Rick the art of false-spilling their drinks: when they only had about an inch of backwash left they'd bump into a nice-looking and drunk guy, spill everything, throw a fit and complain that they _just_ bought the beer, and those guys would always come back with new, full-to-the-brim ones. 

"You-You're such a piece of shit." Rick took the first sip of that glorious first foamy sip of stadium beer, his dark eyes laughing as he opened up his throat and tipped back more than half with one toss. He burped loudly and swiped at his sticky mouth. 

"Yeah, yeah. Takes one to know one." Stan lifted his brows, and extended the plastic cup to Rick. They knocked them together, a bit of golden liquid and foam sloshing out over the side of Stan's and over his hand, and the two tipped back the whole things once again. 

They crushed back their free drinks and slowly got drunker and drunker, and started talking about stupid shit. Rick was even using terminology in alien languages that Stan was slowly trying to learn, which made the people around them side-eye them like they were crazies. 

Rick's hand unexpectedly slipped over Stan's thigh during a lull in their conversation, he dragged his fingertips along the fabric and stopped just a few inches away from his crotch, he let it rest there. Stan looked over at him, but Rick just stared blankly ahead at the field, chewing lazily on a peanut, pretending to be completely oblivious. 

Fine, two could play at that game. Stan nonchalantly sipped at his beer with one hand, while his other sneakily crept underneath and caressed up from Rick's knee to his upper thigh, Stan's fingers bumping along all the slashes in the fabric and windows of bare skin. He curled his hand along Rick's hip and upper thigh, rubbing his thumb slowly there. 

Rick rolled his eyes, and hid his words as he spoke into his cup of cherry-red vodka soda. "You ob-obviously don't know how this game works." Rick hissed, just the beginnings of an embarrassed flush starting high on his cheekbones. His hand on Stan's thigh slipped away, back into his own lap, he took Stan's wrist and pulled his hand closer to his crotch. 

"Oh. So it's supposed to be, like, handjob chicken." Stan leaned in closer over into Rick's seat, speaking into Rick's ear. He splayed out his fingers and captured Rick's into the gaps, sinking them slowly to intertwine, their sticky and sweaty palms pressed flush against one another, holding hands discretely underneath the cracked, plastic armrest. "Whoops." 

Rick sputtered on his drink, coughing. God, why was Stan always turning something that was supposed to be meaningless and sexy into something...  _else?_  Something kind of sweet?

Stan gave their intertwined hands a soft pulse of a squeeze and chuckled softly before pulling away, using his hands instead to crack open a peanut shell and toss them back into his mouth. That little upward tug at the corner of his mouth hadn't gone away almost the entire time, and he chewed contently on the peanuts, staring straight ahead and fishing through the bucket of empty shells noisily for another unopened shell. He seemed to be having a pretty good time.

_Wait,_ Rick realized with a jolt. Was this supposed to be some kind of a  _date?_

"This isn't--" Rick's words fell out of his mouth without much thought. He raised his brow and nudged Stan, until Stan looked at him. 

"What?" Stan asked, chewing and swallowing the last of his peanut. "Want some?" He shook the bucket with a dryish rattle and angled it towards him.

"What?  _No!_ " Rick hissed, swatting the red-and-white striped thing away. 

"Fine, jeez." Stan cracked open another shell with his canine tooth. "Your loss. These things are great. A little over-roasted, juuust how I like 'em." 

" _Can you stop with the stupid peanuts for half a second_ ," Rick hissed under his breath. He squirmed uncomfortably in his seat just thinking about asking the question, he curled his fingers hard around the plastic edge and shoved his legs under him, crossed at the ankles. "Stan, is this...uhhh, is _this,_ meant to be a...."  

It was nearly halftime, and the kicker was preparing for a field goal. The net was rising slowly, but not as fast as it should have. One side had gotten snagged, and so the net was a diagonal line. 

Still, the ref didn't call for a time-out, and the kicker probably was too in the zone to pause now. The football sailed through the yellow posts, just barely caught the edge of the net and began to rapidly tailspin. It kind of looked like it was heading right towards them.

"Rick?!" Stan asked excitedly through gritted teeth. The rest of the crowd near them had started to rise to their feet in anticipation. He knew what Stan meant:  _Does it look like that thing is coming towards us?_

"I got it!" Rick cried, grabbed Stan's arm, kicked off of his thigh, and he hooked the ball from mid-air in one arm. Everyone was in uproar. The people that had no chance cheered and jumped up and down, and the people in the immediate vicinity were engulfed in rage, like a boiling pot spilling over.

"No matter what,  don't let go of that ball!" Stan ordered him, before shoving Rick behind him and down to crouch underneath the plastic seats. It was about to turn into a full-on brawl. Stan swung and popped someone straight on the nose, and he saw him go a little cross-eyed before stumbling and backing away, hands clamped over his bloody face. Others scrambled to try and find Rick under the seat to grab the ball, and Stan didn't really feel too bad as he punted someone much younger than him in the stomach, causing him to curl into a ball and wheeze. Stan's fists flew, and it felt _great_.

"Hey!" A burly security guard in his bright yellow jacket barked and jabbed his index finger at them. "You gotta give that ball back! This isn't baseball!" 

"Come on! " Stan hauled Rick to his feet, half-dragging him out of the stands. At one point he had to briefly scoop him up when someone wrapped a hand around his ankle and tugged. Someone splashed their beer on them, and they were engulfed in a low-resonating boo. Bits of popcorn shaken over their heads cascaded and rolled over them. They two of them booked it up the stairs, Stan taking them two at a time and hauling Rick along by the back of his shirt. Security guards yelled at them to stop. Someone dumped their entire bucket of popcorn over their heads, the yellow shower of popcorns tumbled down their shoulders and all Stan could smell was the rich butter. 

The two of them finally burst into the men's room and darted into a very cramped stall, both heaving out breaths. Stan closed the plastic stall door behind them, locked it, and finally got a look at Rick. Both of them had enthusiastic, devilish grins on their faces. 

"Holy. Shit." Stan breathed heavily. He finally put both hands on the football, running his fingers along the white laces in awe and rubbing his palms along the brown bumps. Rick couldn't keep his eyes off of Stan as Stan whooped in triumph and continued to rub at the football. 

"Okay, I take it back." Rick admitted, a grin plastered to his face. In the cramped stall, the two of them were shoved very close together, their noses pointed at each other only a few inches apart.  " _That_ was fun." 

"You could see that trajectory, couldn't you?" Stan didn't try to mask his admiration in the slightest.

"Clear as day," Rick's hand snaked around and pressed onto Stanley's lower back, the other still held the ball.

"That... that was so badass, Rick!  Damn!! " Stanley's brown eyes were bright, and shiny from excitement. "Free food, too." Stan huffed sarcastically, laughing, and plucked a piece of popcorn perched in Rick's hair and popped it into his mouth. Stan's heartbeat felt like a jackhammer in his chest, and he couldn't deny he was having too much fun riding the adrenaline high.

 _Fuck it_ , he thought, and decided to give into his impulse. 

He crowded Rick against the plastic flat side of the bathroom stall, pinned him to the wall, one hand flat next to Rick's ear and the other big hand wrapped around Rick's jutting hipbone. The two of them still huffed hard from their mad dash up the stairs, and Rick was blatantly staring at Stan's lips with his lowered eyes. Stan moved his hand from pressing flat to the wall to slip to the back of Rick's head, grasping a handful of his thick hair. He leaned even closer, until their foreheads bumped softly to rest against the other. They both couldn't help but still pant, frozen in this moment, Rick unable to tear his eyes away from Stan's lips.  

"Wh-What are you d-?" Rick began, interrupted when  Stan closed the gap between their faces and kissed him hard. 

Rick pulled back, and their lips parted with a soft puckering sound. "You said you didn't want--"

"I never said _didn't_ ," Stan grunted. "I said I needed _time_."  The two pairs of brown eyes met, both still puffing hard from their dead sprint. Rick's expression had quickly deflated. 

"Rick?" Stan whispered in confusion, crestfallen, and he tried to search Rick's face and pick apart his expression. He still held onto Rick's hips.

"You're just drunk, Stanley." Rick said patiently, sadly. It was as if he couldn't believe he'd ever willingly try it, that he would choose to do it.

Stan rested his forehead on his, rubbing his calloused thumb along the spot behind his ear. "I am  not." Stan pouted, but did have to admit his voice sounded a little slurry. "Fine. Maybe a little buzzed. But I--" 

With a groan of frustration, Stan finally pulled away and put a bit of distance between the two of them, even though they still had their hands all over each other. "Rick, do you want to..." 

Rick just looked at him, his lip jutting out in its too-familiar way. He made no move to take his hands off of Stan's waist and lower back, and Stan didn't take his hands away from Stan's hipbones either. Was this some kind of stand-off? Stan had no idea, he just sort of stared at Rick and wondered who was going to speak first.

"Dammit, Pines." Rick sighed. "I don't know what the hell you want. _Do you_ or _don't you_ want-- shit, Stanley, make up your fucking mind!" 

"Well, what do  you want?" Stan demanded right back. "I _want_ this. I realize that now." Stan's voice had gotten much softer. "I think I was really, really jealous of Unity. I think I've wanted to try this for a while with you. I just needed a little more time, to think about it, but I've done enough thinking, and I- yeah. Do you want to try something, try this out, with... with _me?_ " 

Rick paused, chewing on the inside of his cheek for a second, ruminating. _He knows something I don't,_  Stan thought. Maybe it had to do with all his alternate selves, maybe it was breaking rules, maybe it had something to do with his timing. 

Rick scrubbed at the back of his mussed hair. "It's not that easy, okay?" 

"Since when have you been someone who doesn't do whatever the fuck he wants?" Stan asked, fisting the front of his weird band shirt. "Other Ricks are already doing it, aren't they? When you came home in my shirt--"

"I told you already, it wasn't with you! It was with another _me_."

"But tell me, in that dimension, we were just " _friends_ " ?" Stan asked, grinning when Rick's expression easily gave him away.

"Oh, wow. It's even worse than I thought. There's not many dimensions were we're just friends anymore, are there? I'd even say, with this one, we're in the minority, huh?"

Rick gave him one look and Stan's eyebrows flew high. "Oh my god--I'm right? I'm actually _right_?!" 

Rick smirked, lacing his fingers together behind Stan's neck and drawing him in closer.  Stan swiped a tongue over his lips in anticipation, twisting his hand into the hairs on the back of Rick's head.

"Shut up, asshole." Rick closed the space between this time, his lips still curled into a smile when they pressed against Stan's this time.

*   *   *

Stan unlocked the front door, Rick leaned heavily against him, drunk as a skunk, and Stan had his arm hooked around Rick's shoulders and had for the past mile or so. Rick wouldn't be surprised if he was currently blacked out, or maybe phasing in and out of it at least. After they'd crowded into that cramped stall and made out for a little while, and both sort of got overwhelmed by the idea that they'd finally crossed over the friends 'line', they'd both sort of decided that the only thing to do next was head to a nearby bar and drink. _A lot_. 

And Stan still kept good on his promise that, because Rick came to the game with him, he'd buy his drinks. His wallet was aching, nearly physically, like a sore tooth after that. Stan kept his arm wrapped around him, and planted his other palm on Rick's chest and he helped him in through the door. Rick stumbled and had to catch himself on the doorknob. 

"'m srry," Rick whispered slurrily, his eyelids heavy and fluttering. He faced away from Stan, and his voice was surprisingly meek. "I jusss' wanted some time without my mind, y'know?" 

"I know, Rick." Stan helped him stumble to his twin bed, and Rick collapsed onto it, tugging on Stan's shirt drunkenly. Stan just ducked down and helped him with his shoes. 

"I... _uhhhh_..." Rick groaned, pressing his palm across his eyes. "I gotta sss-- _urrrp_ -sleep this off." 

 "Yeah, I figured." Stan chuckled affectionately, tugging off a combat boot and letting it clunk to the floor. "See ya in the morning, champ." He patted at his shin as he helped with the remaining shoe.

"I'll tellya--why I--." Rick mumbled drunkenly, hands flopping everywhere. "I'll give you a hint. I needed to cope with-- _haha!_ that yu-you actually wanted me back. Youu... you _actually_ do."

Stan felt his heart squeeze at that comment. He sat on the edge of his twin and pushed his fingers through Rick's grey-blue hair, and Rick's lips stretched into a schmoopy, drunken grin as Rick took Stan's wrist into his hand without much of a reason. 

"You're hot." Rick blurted out, still with that smile plastered on his face. 

" _Shhhh_ ," Stan shushed him, barely stopping himself from bursting out laughing.

Rick tugged at Stan's wrist, guiding his hand to lay against the side of his face. Stan balanced on the edge of the bed and hunched over Rick, tangling his fingers in his wild hair. 

"W-was today--" Rick started, cutting himself off by clamping down on his lip. 

"Yeeaah?" Stan egged him on, grinning and slowly petting his hair. 

"Was today suh-supposed to be a _date?_ " Rick finally blurted. 

Stan's hand stilled in Rick's hair, and his eyes swept off to the side shyly.

"Um." He grunted, nervously rubbing at his nose with his free hand. "Uh, yeah. Kinda." 

Rick's grinned toothily up at him from where he lay, snaking his other hand to the back of Stan's head and curling him even closer. Rick's exhale smelled like alcohol and something kind of sickly-sweet, maybe pineapple from a drink. Their lips met again, briefly. They pulled apart with a soft smack. 

"Hell yeah biiitch, I can do that kind of shit now." Rick gloated. Then, he whipped his blanket over himself with a comedic flare, as if he were whipping a cape, and bundled up under them without Stan. "G'nite." He peeped.

Stan chuckled and placed his hand over Rick's cheek, passed his hand over his ear and gently stroked his hair.

He got up without saying anything else, and went back into his own room. Just when he'd started drifting, he heard the unmistakeable sound of retching and the spray of puke hitting toilet water, the sound amplified by the shape of the bowl. 

The faucet ran for a while too, the pipe was in the wall right next to Stan's bed and it was hard to ignore the noisy rush it made just inches away. Finally, with a squeal of the tap, the sounds shut off and Stan sighed into his pillow, welcoming the creamy silence. Finally.

He felt his weight shift as the bed dipped next to him, and Rick climbed in bed with him in the dark. 

"Sorry," Rick whispered, his breath minty with toothpaste, with the very slight undertone of stomach bile. "I could tell I would get sick. I didn't want to puke all over you. Wow, looks like I'm really losing my edge. And I didn't even break twenty shots. Don't tell the other Ricks, _shhhh_." 

Stan smiled into the dark and wriggled over, making more room for Rick. He was asleep almost immediately after he felt Rick press flush against his back, felt how Rick draped his warm arms over him and propped up his leg over his waist.

Stan rose up out of a deep sleep to feel Rick's arm draped heavily across his chest, his curled hand resting below Stan's chin. Rick's thin leg was shoved up between the two of his, thigh pressed up against Stan's groin, the skin of Stan's bare shins sliding against the bony, hairy calf of another man's leg between two of his own. 

"Hey, Rick." Stan mumbled into the pitch dark, his tongue drunken with sleep, and a little of the remaining alcohol in his system. Stan shifted, wriggling backwards closer into him and laying his arm on top of Rick's hugging to his chest. 

Rick mumbled something sleepily, pulling Stan in _much_ closer to him, his arms wrapping around his chest and his lengthy leg curled tighter around his. He nuzzled up against the back of Stan's neck, he breathed softly, each puff of warm breath trickling through Stan's hairs. Stan knew that breathing pattern by now: it seemed that Rick was still asleep.

The breathing subtly went up in pace, until Stan realized they were something more like soft pants of pleasure. Rick's gyrating hips rolled against the small of his back, working up a subtle, subconscious rhythm. Stan thumbed in soft circles along the back of Rick's hand, finally lifting up the hand and pressing his lips to his palm, his wrist, down the length of the underside of his forearm. His lips brushed a few raised scar lines there, and he felt a pang of sadness, and just kept peppering kisses all the way up to the crook of his elbow. 

"You awake?" Stan whispered into the dark. 

"Mmm-hmm." Rick hummed softly, teasing a slow circle around Stan's nipple. "I am now." 

Rick was panting up against Stan's neck now, soft hitching sounds seemingly much louder in the dark, rolling his hips in earnest.

" _Mmmm_ ," Stan hummed when Rick moved his leg, his thigh sliding up between his legs and applying some pressure to Stan's groin. The simple and consistent rubbing was enough to feel _something_ , at least, and Stan let his sleepy self enjoy that feeling. Stan could feel when Rick's underwear slipped down, the head of his dick pressing bare against his skin, dragging sticky dampness over his waist, butt, the backs of his thighs. Stan's hand searched in the dark, found Rick's, and sunk his fingers into the gaps. 

Rick hummed in response, nosing under Stan's jaw, dragging his teeth and lips. He squeezed Stan's larger hand in his, Rick's short thrusts growing in intensity, Stan could feel his thighs shaking. He felt his mouth's print, wet and hanging open, at the side of his neck. Then, he was coming, wet and messy against the back of Stan's hips and over his ass. The two of them just breathed together in the dark, snuggling up closer to one another, hands still locked together. Rick nuzzled up until his cheek was partially pressed to Stan's, pressing soft, lazy kiss after kiss. His free hand smoothed all along his backside, gathering up as much of the warm seed as he could.

"Do you...?" Rick asked his unfinished question. Rick and pulled at the elastic of his boxers with dexterous fingers and slid underneath.

" _Yeah_ ," Stan's breathy response seemed much louder in the nearly pitch darkness.

Stan hummed softly when Rick's sticky hand wrapped around his cock. His sure fingers wrapped around his dick and began to pull, starting with one slow, gliding pull from base to tip, every moment falling within the same rhythm. On some strokes, he'd flick up his hand and slide his thumb over the slit at the head, and Stan would let out a soft grunt or sigh.

He let himself relax into Rick, as the man held him close and jacked him off. Rick panted into his neck, Stan moaned when Rick kissed the crook of his neck deeply, he felt the hardness of teeth along the curve of muscle, as Rick bit softly and sucked wet and slow. Stan's fingers twitched in Rick's, he curled his fist around those bony fingers, his eyes falling closed. 

Stan sucked in a breath and turned his hot face into his pillow, letting another soft moan escape him. He could just barely hear that squishy sound the handjob made from under the blanket. God, this felt good. Not just that. This felt fucking _fantastic_. 

" _Hff_.. ah... _ah_... Rick, Jesus-" Stan could feel the way sweat began to bead at his hairline, or mist the hollow of his throat. Rick continued his gentle pulls, easing his hand down then gliding upward in a careful rhythm, Stan's thighs started to shake. Rick went steady and slow, pumping at the perfect pace.

"How's it feel?" Rick asked, rubbing his thumb over the slit in that maddening way he'd been doing before. 

Stan just nodded, his increased breathing and soft grunts sounded incredibly loud in the stillness and darkness of the deep night. 

Stan's toes curled into the sheets, he moaned softly and found his back arching, his heart hammering hard up against his chest.

"Go on," Rick nosed under his jaw and hid another kiss there. "Stan-- baby--" 

" _Rick,_ " Stan gasped, feeling how quickly the heat crested in him and he came. God, had Rick really just called him _baby?_

Rick squeezed his hand with finality and then used it to pet at his hair, raking his fingers through, and dragging his blunt nails over his scalp.

"Come on, Rick, none of this spooning crap." Stan grumbled and shifted around noisily so that he could face Rick. The glow coming from the slats in the window was just enough to vaguely see where his face was, the curve of his thin and pokey shoulder, outlined in hazy blue.

"Why?" Rick asked. Stan captured his chin in between two fingers, and slipped a sticky thigh between Rick's legs.

" _Why?_ 'Cuz I wanna _kiss_ you, dumbass."  

They made out lazily, warm and slow, both sort of half-asleep, the sounds of the smacks and wetness amplified in the perfect quiet and still. The two of them snuggled as they soaked in the afterglow, enjoying the feeling of their entangled bodies both slowly relaxing, and they drifted off again.

*   *   *

Of course, Rick was hungover the next day. Stan happily made the both of them some fried eggs in for breakfast, and brought Rick some pain meds along with a glass of orange juice. He even accounted for Rick's tolerance: he knew Rick was taking about five of these each time now, since he was always hurting from the Council even now.

Rick tipped some of the contents of his flask into the juice, which Stan had left some room for just that. Rick silently tipped it all back, tossing back a handful of pills and polishing off the juice all at once. When he met Stan's eyes, his were weary. He slumped over himself, resting his cheek in his hand.

"Hey, you okay?" Stan asked, his stomach sinking. He pulled out the other chair across from him and sat, and put a hand over his shoulder. "Rick... what's wrong?"

"If you want to pretend like nothing happened yesterday, like we did all the other times this happened, then, y'know, that's okay." Rick said, avoiding his eyes and picking at the eggs with his fork, looking entirely disinterested in them. "Seriously. I get it."

"What makes you think that?" Stan stiffened, nearly offended. "That I'd want that?" 

Rick shrugged moodily. "Dunno." He grunted, pushing bits of yolk around on the plate. "We were drinking, and you're not--look, you don't really want to try this. Trust me."

"Stop telling me what I want." Stan shot back. "Yesterday was fuckin' _awesome_ , so was everything else, so was going back-to-back with you or-- when you, last night-- all of it. I wouldn't take it back for anything." Stan admitted, feeling his face flare red.

"Look. I don't really know what I am. You already caught on about that." Stan confessed, biting down hard on his teeth and squeezing his eyes shut so that wrinkles folded along his brow line. He held the sides of his temples, he really hated the fact that he was actually going to admit this aloud.

"I don't think I'm gay, but I... I don't even think I'm straight either. Fuck, Rick, it's so confusing. Sex isn't really something on my mind, not with guys or girls, not with anyone. Masturbating doesn't really work that well. And I know that's gonna be a problem. But I... yeah. We're not pretending yesterday didn't happen, no." Stan covered his eyes, embarrassed. He wet his lips again with another sweep of his tongue.

Rick looked shocked. That expression slowly melted into one of relief, then finally some weird expression that maybe, he could have possibly been happy. It was still a little weird, a little unfamiliar to Rick himself, like margarine to butter, a little off-brand. But it was still something. Rick finally popped a forkful of breakfast into his mouth.

"I kinda felt like that for a while, didn't know. I thought cuz I wanted one, it meant I didn't want the other. I realized a while ago, I just want everything. Boys, girls, aliens, anything. That everything's even an option." Rick smirked. "Ha. Yeah, figuring myself out was the best."

"See, here we go having opposite problems again." Stan chuckled, despite everything. He clammed up again after a second. 

"So, you think you don't want either." Rick asked. 

Stan nodded his head. 

"I don't know what's wrong with me." Stan whispered. He turned away and got up out of his chair, leaving Rick to stare at the back of his unruly sort-of mullet and the back of his neck. He sighed deeply, his whole chest rising and falling. "I feel broken. I know my brother is this way too, but it suits him just fine. He might even _like_ it this way. But no one thinks that I'd be like this. I don't want to _be_ like this, Rick. But I can't help it. I've tried." 

"Yeah." Rick said. "I think I noticed that about you a long time ago. Sorry about, _uhhh_ , y'know. Some of the things I said to you when you broke me and Yoon up. That was really shitty of me." Rick knew he'd already apologized, but Stan had been blacked out when he did. He wanted to make sure he knew.

Of course Stan remembered him saying  _you don't even think about sex, you don't want it, do you? You're broken, you're a sexless freak,_ and how much that had cut deep.

Stan sighed again, grabbing the spatula and poking at the eggs frying away in the pan. "Rick, I don't _understand_ this." 

Rick pressed himself flush against the Stan's back and wrapped his arms around him, and Stan made a minuscule sigh. "You can still have sex, like when I showed you how to get off. Like last night. It can still feel good. You just need someone who knows about it." Rick spoke quietly into his hair.

"Yeah," Stan agreed, letting his pent-up breath out, and flipping over one of the eggs, and Rick pulled away. 

"Yeeah." He mumbled again, rubbing at the back of his head nervously. 

The day went by pretty normally. Stan searched the newspaper for any kinds of jobs that would hire a high school dropout and he wouldn't have to interact with too many people, like digging a ditch on the side of the road in the dead of night. That would be the dream. He didn't find much, a bar was hiring a bodyguard but Stan was pretty sure this was the same one that had a three bouncer fatal stabbing streak, so he'd probably pass on that one.

Rick left for most of the day, something about band practice, and he couldn't wait much longer to deliver the crystals to Squanchy. Stan futzed around, took a shower, cleaned up a little and did some laundry. He was making dinner when Rick came back, and they met eyes once he'd opened the door, both expressions a little befuddled as Rick hung onto the doorknob and Stan froze with a wood spoon in his hand.

"Uh, hey." Stan choked. "Want some?" He nodded to the boiling water of spaghetti the bubbling pasta sauce. 

Rick shook his head and pushed inside, hanging up his guitar. "I'm, no, y-yeah, I just ate. Some pizza." He sputtered, still not turning around to face him. "So, _uhhhh_..."

"If you're going to ask if I've changed my mind about all of this, I haven't." Stan interrupted, his lips just barely lifting into a smile. "You're the most insecure narcissist I've ever met, Rick Sanchez." 

Rick scoffed at that. He waited for a moment, and nervously itched at his nose. "So, you're serious?"

"I'm serious." Stan echoed.

Rick came up behind Stan and wrapped his arms around him, Stan continued to cook. Rick dug his chin into Stan's shoulder and looked at what he was doing. 

"I, ummm, didn't actually have pizza." Rick admitted softly. "I haven't eaten since the last time you cooked for me at breakfast." 

"Good, because I made enough for you, too." Stan said, turning his cheek to look at Rick, smiling knowingly at him. Rick muttered something about being a know-it-all yet he still didn't let go, he clung to Stan and just pressed his cheek up against Stan's back as Stan cooked. For someone so thin, he was still so warm. Stan wondered why the hell he hadn't thought about doing this sooner.

Stan scrubbed at all the pans and dishes, stuck them into the rack to dry, and swiped his sudsy hands off on his pants nervously. He ducked into his bedroom and found Rick lounging on his bed, smoking a joint and blowing the smoke out of the open window. The bedside lamp spilled a soft yellow light across Rick, over his softly rumpled bedspread, he could see how the smoke danced and whorled before floating up and dissipating. He felt his nerves melt away at Rick's soft expression.

"Hey." Stan said quietly. 

"Hey," Rick piped back, exhaling smoke from his nostrils and tapping the ashes off into an empty water bottle. He patted at the bed next to him, and Stan climbed on using his knees. Rick smushed out the joint and dropped it into the bottle. He slipped his leg between Stan's, his knee nudged up against Stan's groin. 

"Dinner was good." Rick whispered, and Stan found his hand had wandered into Rick's tangly hair again. Stan crowded him up against the wall to one side of his bed, pressing his palm flat next to Rick's head. They pressed their lips together in a short, chaste kiss. 

Stan felt their stubbly cheeks gently scrape against one another, he grinned as Rick tugged at the hem of his t-shirt and slipped his fingers underneath, sliding his palm up from his hip to the his waist.  

"Is it kinda weird that we're sober right now?" Stan asked. "Trust me, I know that much pot isn't going to do jack shit for you."

Rick snorted, moving his hand shoved under Stan's shirt even further up, palming at Stan's chest. "I won't make it weird if you don't." 

"Deal," Stan's voice got caught in his throat, making it come out much more breathy than he'd wanted as Rick's wandering hand skimmed over his sensitive stomach and the tips of his fingers dipped below his waistband.

"You, uh, _have_ had sex before, right?" Rick asked in a low, almost sultry voice, dipping close to his ear.

"I'm not a virgin, Rick." Stan replied, almost in a patronizing way. "I had a girlfriend in high school."

"Okay. Great. Been there, done that, _suuuper_ underwhelming. But still, if you want to stop, we'll stop. Right away." Rick pressed a kiss to his jaw, slipped his hand even lower.

"Yeah." Stan whispered again. His hands trembled slightly as he held Rick closer. The tips of their noses pressed together. 

"You're, uh... clean, right?" Stan asked. "I don't own condoms." 

"Squeaky." Rick said, flashing an 'ok' sign. "But even if I wasn't, I'd find out how to cure it. Done it before." 

Stan's eyes half-hooded themselves, and his lips twitched into a smile. "Amazing," He breathed, just drinking in the idea that this was _Rick_ , brain like a supercomputer and all. 

Rick planted a lively smooch on Stan's lips, then propped himself up to climb off the bed.

"Good. I'll be right back with some lube." Rick let his fingers drag against his skin as he got up. "Wait right here."

Stan sank into the mattress and tried to relax, he looked up at a water spot on his ceiling. He couldn't deny that underneath all that electric nervousness coursing through his body, he felt a lightning bolt of curiosity and anticipation, too. He knew he wouldn't be feeling like this if he'd had something to drink to dull the nerves. This was **_Rick_** , he found himself realizing. The one that had made him come apart the other day, whispered dirty things into his ear, tugging on him so expertly, making his legs tremble at the intensity of the pleasure. God, he didn't realize how much he'd really wanted this again until now. Even though it had only happened twice, Stan found that he really missed his touch. 

Rick came back, set something on the bedside table and pounced back into bed with Stan and wrapping his legs on either side of Stan's chest. Stan kissed at his legs, pressing the kisses and closer to his crotch over the fabric, and Rick grinned. He sat back, sitting on Stan's thighs with his legs folded under him. Rick undid Stan's button and tugged down the zipper, shimmying his jeans halfway off.

"Damn, Stanley." Rick complimented him quietly, running both hands down the hairy thighs to either side of him. "Your body. I wasn't shitting you, you know. You're hot. This _build_." Rick pulled the pants the rest of the way off, then he crawled forward and slid his hands along his shoulders, then down his chest. Stan watched with a softened expression, shuddering slightly as Rick scooped his hands to his sides and down to his waist.

"This ratio you got is crazy." Rick laughed, holding his waist. "You're so top-heavy. It's so fucking attractive."

Stan closed his eyes, too flustered to look at him for a moment. He wasn't used to compliments. Rick kneaded at his waist for a second, then rubbed at his thighs. Stan huffed again, breathy now. 

"Stan-- you're tense." Rick said, continuing the gentle massage.

Stan groaned, irritated. Rick had to chuckle, then laid down again next to him. Rick wound his legs within Stan's. His dick, still soft, pressed up against the side of Stan's thigh. 

"I'm _trying_ to relax." Stan said, shame in his voice. "I'm sorry that I'm so nervous." 

"You're worried about who's fucking who, huh?" Rick whispered. "Yeah, I guess we didn't say yet." 

Stan turned bright pink in the face. He held onto the back of Rick's neck, rubbing his thumb along the delicate knobs of bone he felt underneath. 

"You choose." Stan nearly whimpered. "Just-- you know so much more than I do. I don't know how this is supposed to work. Just choose for me." 

"Oh, it's no question." Rick whispered. He pulled forward and rubbed their noses together, a widened smirk still on his face. "You're gonna be the one fucking me." 

Stan stifled a moan, low in his chest.

"There we go, Stan!" Rick smirked and closed the distance between and kissed him again, slowly. "Now we're getting somewhere." They parted with a pucker, and Stan blinked rapidly, staring deep into Rick's eyes. His lips were still parted slightly, like he was too distracted to close them. 

"God, you're fucking gorgeous." Rick swiped his thumb over Stan's spit-slick lips. "I'm gonna _love_ having your cock in me."

Stan hugged Rick closer, hiding his face against Rick's bare chest. Rick could feel how hot his face was against his skin. Rick held him, one palm flat in the middle of his back and another cradling the back of his head. 

"Don't be too embarrassed. I like to pillow talk, I just think it's fun. It's kinda my thing. I won't, if you don't want me to." Rick chuckled, combing his fingers through his hair over and over.  

"I-it's fine." Stan spoke into his chest. "I'm just not, uh, I'm getting used to it. From you. That's all." 

"Heh. Okay." Rick pulled apart, and sat back by Stan's legs once again. "I know you're new at this, never been with a guy before. Don't worry, I'm gonna clue you in for every step of this. Yeah?" 

"Yeah, Rick." Stan replied, still looking a bit stupefied. He held loosely onto Rick's folded knees. "Yeah. Let's do this." 

"We're gonna open me up first." Rick said. "I can do it myself, you can help me, I dunno. But I gotta stretch myself out, so that when we're ready to get going, you can slide inside me no problem." 

Stan keened quietly, and Rick reached out to cup his cheek. 

"We're really doing this, aren't we." Stan rasped, his breathing already kicking it up a notch. 

"Do you want to, uh...?" Rick asked quietly, once more. 

"No." Stan interrupted him, more sure now. "I want this. I want to--feel you..." Stan wound up covering his face, hiding it in the back of his elbow. "I can't do the dirty talking, I don't think. I can cross that one off my list." Stan said, finally looking at Rick again. 

"I'll do enough for the both of us." Rick chuckled. "So, am I fingering my own ass or what?" 

"I'll help." Stan said. "Show me how." 

"Yeah." Rick stretched out over Stan, taking his hand in one of his and pressing the other flat against the wall behind their heads. Stan undid Rick's fly and shimmied Rick's pants just low enough so that his ass was exposed, letting the pants bunch up in wrinkles around his upper thighs. Rick squeezed lube out into Stan's hands, then he guided Stan to reach between his legs, and finally up between his cheeks.

"It won't hurt me. Honestly, it feels pretty good." Rick whispered to him, into his ear. "Start with one. Piston it, and I'm gonna fuck back against it. When I say, add the next one." 

"Then what?" Stan asked, his breathing elevated already. "Should I do three, or--" 

"Don't _worry_ so goddamn much," Rick cupped his face once again. "I got you, remember? Now, one." 

Stan did it, and felt the slow sink of his slippery finger into something soft and incredibly warm. He let his other arm wrap around the small of Rick's back. Rick let out a quiet gasp, and arched his back into Stan. Stan met foreheads with him.

Both of their breathing quickened, and in this same space they shared a lot of their same air. Stan breathed in Rick's exhale, stuffy and tinged with an alcoholic scent. Stan didn't mind. Rick still had his hand pressed to the wall, and Stan leaned his cheek against his shoulder to support it. Rick pressed the side his chin to Stan's temple. Stan pushed in again, and he felt Rick's hot breath tickle his hairline.

"Tell me if I'm hurting you. I've never done this before." Stan said, his voice soft. His finger stayed inside of Rick, not moving. He sometimes felt the movement of his muscles, little pulses around it. 

"No. It feels so good, Stanley. I just forgot, you have gigantic hands." Rick crooned. He pressed his face closer, kissing the side of Stan's mouth. "Keep moving," He whispered. 

Stan did. He pushed in further, as far as he could go. Rick hugged Stan closer, his mouth falling open and he huffed, resting his head against Stan's shoulder. 

"Oh, God." Rick swallowed. This was really happening, Stan's finger was inside of him and his dick was going to be soon, too. Rick's dick was so hard with that thought that he could barely stand it. Rick caught his breath again. "Keep going." 

Stan pulled outward, then pumped in against the warm ring of muscles surrounding all sides of his finger. Rick shuddered, and rocked back against it to meet it. Stan pulled out and pushed back in, surprised at how well timed Rick could meet him, fuck back against his finger. They hadn't even really started and they already were in such sync. 

"Stanley..." Rick breathed his name, like no one had ever said it before.

Stan felt a jolt of something down the base of his spine, and he felt himself getting harder. Rick rocked back against Stan's finger again, and Stan could kind of tell what he meant by eventually adding two. He could feel more give now than when he first started. So, he slipped in the second one. Rick gasped loudly, then pressed his face to Stan's. 

"Look at that. You're a natural." He purred. "Ahh, Stanley. It feels so damn good." Rick rocked back against the two fingers, warm breath hitting Stan's face again and again like lapping waves. "Keep going, baby." 

Stan let his eyes fall closed. Christ, Rick calling him baby like this _\--_ he kind of loved it. The two huffed together, too hot and bothered to do much talking for a moment. Rick smacked a wet kiss on him in a congratulatory way after he went deep enough to make him sputter and moan loudly. 

"Three?" Stan huffed, the two of them already rocking together in complete sync. Rick rose up down against Stan's hand, his nose dragging a vertical path against his cheek. 

"No." Rick huffed back. "I think I'm good. " 

"Shit." Stan replied without missing a beat. "I don't know how to do this with a guy. I've never done anal with a girl before. I... I don't want to fuck this up, Rick." 

"I'll take care of it." Rick whispered. "Now, it's your turn." Rick enthusiastically tugged off his shirt. 

"Come on, get out of your clothes here." Rick laughed, plucking at Stan's T-shirt. "Let's not do this half-clothed like a couple of paranoid teenagers." 

Stan laughed at that, and the two stripped everything off, landing in lumps next to the bed. Stan looked uncertainly to Rick, eyes wide and shiny brown. Rick captured his chin with his hand, rubbing his thumb over his tiny frown. 

"Relax, Brawny." Rick whispered. "I'll take care of everything. This isn't exactly my first rodeo. We'll go slow, okay? I'm not usually vanilla, by any means, but...y'know. I'll... yeah." 

Stan nodded. He let out a anxious huff of  breath, and Rick wrapped his arms around him and kissed him again. He pressed the kisses lower, onto his chest, stomach, and lower still, just below his navel, even nosing into his dark hairs there. The first long lick from the base to tip with the flat of Rick's tongue was almost unexpected, and it made Stan jerk. Stan steadied himself with his hand on Rick's head, letting his bluish hairs pinch between his fingers. Rick swallowed up Stan's cock in one motion, and Stan gasped loudly. 

After a few bobs of his head, Rick swiped at his wet mouth with the back of his hands and caught his breath. Stan watched him, framed between his thick thighs. Rick shot him a toothy grin, and took Stan's hardened cock into his curled hand, using his spit for a smooth upward stroke. Rick pressed his thumb firmly over the reddening head, rubbing over and over in short, tight circles, starting to smear the small beads of precum that started to drool out from it.

Stan let his head fall back into the pillows and he moaned with abandon. "Ah, _Rick_." He sighed. "Feels good."

"Damn," Rick said. "You really _don't_ get yourself off much, do you?" 

Stan shook his head. It really didn't come naturally to him, it generally was effortless, and he kind of got tired of hearing that nagging voice in the back of his head that asked _What the hell is wrong with you, Pines?_ that he'd just stopped trying. Sex just wasn't something that crossed his mind too often, it didn't really make the cut onto his list for priorities (if he didn't try to force it to be, at least).

Ford probably loved it this way, it didn't waste time, mental energy didn't have to be expended on something so 'useless'. Stan had wished desperately for it to be different, but he'd sort of given up on that after a long and frustrating time, too. It still felt amazing, Rick's lips wrapped around his cock. He was more grateful than he'd guessed he'd be that Rick knew all about his low sex drive, his nearly non-existent urges, that he seemed to know exactly how to get around it all.

"I got you, remember?" Rick hummed, crawling up again on his hands and stroking his face, almost as if he could know Stan was overthinking. "Just don't come now, because you're going to save it. For when you're deep in me, only." 

Stan grinned toothily at the bossing around, and nodded. Rick smiled back at him, muttering 'good'.  Rick didn't break eye contact as he slid his hand over Stan's ass and held it there, pressing his fingertips to indent into the softness, then caressed downwards until his hands were in the crooks behind Stan's knees, he pulled them upward and let them fold, and Stan planted his feet and propped up his legs in angles. Stan secretly loved the way this was happening, the way Rick showed him how, guided nearly every move. It was nice to feel like Rick was the one taking care of him, for once.

Rick climbed up to meet Stan for a short press of his lips, he lined their cocks both up against each other so that Stan felt his breath hitch again. Rick's movements were fluid, lithe, as his hips shifted and he bucked smoothly, their dicks riding together, all just friction at first until Rick reached down between where their bodies pressed together and took the both of them into his hand. Rick rolled his hips down again, smiled against the dip of Stan's thick shoulder when Stan moaned and murmured his name, laying back in pure bliss with his eyes closed.

"Anything you want, you tell me." Rick said in reply, his eyes just inches away as their hot breaths lapped against each other's faces and they moved and rocked against each other. " _Anything_ , Stan." 

"Kiss me more." Stan panted, needy. He held Rick close, one hand planted on the small of his back just above his ass, feeling the way his pelvis rolled, and the other over his undulating spine, feeling the way the bones pressed up against his hand from under his skin.

"You're so fuckin' _cheeeesy_ ," Rick couldn't help but tease. Their foreheads hovered centimeters apart, nearly touching, and then Rick plunged forward, capturing Stan's lips, his free hand tangled in his brown curls while the other wrapped around their cocks between them. Rick's thumb caressed his firm, sharp jaw and swiped up to his earlobe before falling back down under the curve of bone again. Finally, Rick took Stan's chin between his thumb and forefinger and guided his mouth open even wider, deepening the kiss. Their tongues touched, licked across one another, Stan let his tongue wander and he felt Rick's teeth.

Rick broke apart, his lips wet and his chin shiny, and he sucked hard and nipped at Stan's throat, leaving behind tiny patches of pink and splotches of red. Rick sat up on his knees with his legs folded under him, and Stan wrapped his hands around his thin thighs, taking in heavy breaths. 

"Ready?" Rick huffed, mischievous in the way one eyebrow quirked up in a twitch.

Stan nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, Rick." 

"Good, because if I don't get your dick soon I'm not gonna last." Rick lined himself up, and Stan felt the same indent at the tip of his head that he first felt at his fingertip. Rick curled his bony hands around Stan's hip bones, rubbing his thumbs in circles to reassure him. 

"Easy physics. I go down, you go up. Ready?" Rick kept gently massaging his hips in circles with his thumbs. Stan nodded, his expression needy and his face flushed. 

"Okay. Now," Rick whispered, and Stan angled his hips slightly and Rick sank down. Stan pressed up against resisting muscle, but once Rick instinctively spread his legs wider, he felt everything give and he slid all the way up to the hilt. They'd bottomed out, and Rick's soft ass rested against his inner thighs.

Both moaned, hands clutching hard at each other's skin. 

"Stanley, breathe, breathe," Rick instructed him in a whisper, Stan's breath rushed out of him and he panted softly. He didn't even realize he'd held his breath. It just felt so damn _good_ to be encased in something like this, he could barely think. Stan started slow, rocking his hips up gently, almost experimentally. Rick's mouth hung open in ecstasy, and he let out a croak-like groan. 

"Hang on. You almost have it," Rick told him, and Stan wasn't quite sure what he was talking about until Rick adjusted, leaning over, pulling himself just a little bit closer, pulling Stan in just a little further, and he snapped his eyes shut at the next gentle thrust from Stan. 

"Right there." Rick panted. "Right th-- _nghnn_.... _Stanley_..."

God, Stan didn't even care that hearing his own name coming from Rick's mouth was sort of making him _way_ too hot and bothered, much more than it should be. Stan held Rick's waist, rocking gently upward against that spot again, watching how Rick reacted to it was insanely gratifying. For all his bullshit about hating "vanilla", Rick really seemed to be weak in the knees at this. 

Stan's hips mindlessly canted toward the ceiling as Rick moved himself up and down, it was nearly infuriating how slow. Stan sputtered a gasp at the pressure, the heat, the slow slide of it all. Nothing he'd had so far compared to this. He'd never had his cock inside someone else's body like this before. He captured his lower lip hard in between his teeth, until Rick slid his warm open palm against the side of his face and knotted his fingers into his longer hair, and with the other hand traced his thumb over Stan's mouth. 

"You're just about ready to bite through your lip here, Brawns." Rick crooned. "Relax, babe. I know it feels good--" 

Stan let out a soft keen that he knew he probably should have been embarrassed about, but couldn't bring himself to care in the moment. He let out the breath he'd been holding again out in a burst, and Rick swiped at his cheekbone with his thumb as his hips rolled fluidly again, thrusting Stan inside himself with all the control.

Stan huffed, stifling another moan. Stan finally opened his eyes once again, and saw Rick's face close to his own; blue-grey hair a spiky mess, sweat beginning to bead out from his nose and cheeks, the way his pendants bumped softly against his chest as he rode Stan so slowly. His _eyes_. Stan had never really seen affection so plainly in them like this before.

"God, this feels so good." Stan couldn't keep his hands off of Rick, he held him by the waist, or the knees, or pressed his palms over his shoulder blades and pulled him in even closer. Rick closed the distance between them, planting an open-mouthed kiss on Stan's lips, and they both opened up and their lips slotted together. Stan couldn't breathe for a second, and Rick's warm tongue slowly slid into his mouth as Stan mirrored it and slowly thrust and slid deeper up into Rick, rutting their bodies together in perfect sync.

"Stanley..." Rick breathed, his voice could easily be mistaken for a sob. He spoke to Stan so closely, his lips sometimes snagging against Stan's, much like the microphone Rick used on stage. "Stan... I-- _this_..." He interrupted himself with a broken cry, biting down on his lip. "Fuck. Feels right." He said, pushing downward smoothly and riding Stan. 

Stan couldn't bring himself to reply, he didn't know what to say because he was pretty sure he felt it, too. It all started on that fire escape, and he'd suspected when he kissed Rick at that orgy with Unity, but he'd known ever since Rick came home naked underneath one of his T-shirts. He never would have guessed they'd really get here. 

"I'm close now. I think." It took all Stan had just to grunt that. He suddenly felt like it was all too intense and he was suddenly very, very overwhelmed. 

Stan's eyes snapped shut, and he hated himself for giving away how suddenly scared he'd become.

He felt like such an idiot.

He shouldn't have fudged the truth like he did.

He shouldn't have told Rick he'd had sex before.

"Open your eyes, Stan, just look at me." Rick scrambled to say, rubbing at Stan's cheek. His own expression had grown concerned, like he finally understood what he'd been trying to grasp the entire time. He held Stan securely by both sides of his face, fingers pressing under the sharp angle of his jawbones, and Stan couldn't bring himself to mask the terrified look in his eyes anymore as he panted.

"Stan, it's okay. Shit. Now I know why you-- okay. Just-- I'm with you. I got you." Rick soothed him rapidly, and Stan let out a soft, involuntary whimper as he felt himself get even closer to release. Rick let go of Stan's face and he intertwined his fingers within Stan's, guiding Stan's arms to rest comfortably against the bed and extending both of their clasped hands up over Stan's head, his elbows bent at angles.

Rick squeezed Stan's much larger hands in reassurance before Rick kissed him again, open mouthed and desperate, like he couldn't get close enough. Stan met him back, tongue pushing hard into his mouth, lips smushed against the soft plush of his, clenching down hard on Rick's bony fingers as he rode through the entirely too overwhelming orgasm. When Stan came, his back arched off the bed and he let out an unflattering, broken cough-like groan low in his chest. Rick's orgasm was much quieter, it was more of the catching of breath in the back of his throat.

Rick suckled on his lips when they went slack, Stan let the orgasm melt his body into the mattress. He panted, trying hard to regain his breath, he just let himself lay back with his arms bent at the elbows over his head. Rick gave his hands one final squeeze before untangling their fingers. Rick gently kneaded his neck with those dexterous fingers, and Stan huffed over and over. Stan could feel himself softening inside of Rick, and Rick wordlessly guided him as they stayed connected and flipped. They rolled in the bed so that Stan was on top, still inside. Rick stroked at his back, his fingers curled around the back of his neck and he swiped his thumb in the bare spot behind his ear. 

"Rick, I... _fffuck_ , are you--" Stan panted, shiny sweat at the base of his heaving neck and at his hairline. "Did that feel good...?" 

" _Relax_ , baby." Rick hummed, dragging his flat palm down Stan's back. "It's okay. Fuck _yeah_ that felt good to me, so don't worry."

Rick pulled away from him, pulling Stan out at the motion. Rick wriggled to slot to his side, panting. Stan hooked his arm around him, and they both caught their breaths. 

"We came at the same time," Rick huffed, with a strange undertone of being astonished, or maybe even impressed.  
  
"Is that bad?" Stan asked uncertainly, staring up at the ceiling.  
  
"No, no. Fuck no." Rick shook his head. "I... that's only happened to me a couple times. I mean, we... it was at the exact same time. We were both--"

"Yeah," Stan whispered, ducking to speak into Rick's ear. "I, uh, liked that. A lot."  
  
"Damn." Rick whistled low. "I mean, we were really in it together for that one."  
  
Rick lifted his hand and affectionately lay his palm against Stan's cheek. Stan's eyes flicked uncertainly to it, and he bit down on his lips. He knew he'd fucked up, he knew he should have told Rick everything.

He just thought he'd be able to keep his cool, sell the show like he always did, just like any other con. He didn't realize it would be so different in the moment.

"Rick, I..." Stan didn't have the guts to say it. Rick carded his fingers through Stan's long brown hair, his blunt fingernails dragging against his scalp. Rick straddled Stan, and without even meaning to they were hugging each other again, even with a sticky mess in between them.

Rick broke their hug moments later, just so he could prop himself up on his elbows and stare down into Stan's eyes directly. 

"You haven't actually had sex before, have you?" Rick asked. 

"I... " Stan trailed off, embarrassment catching up to him. "I've... uhhh..... never had _penetrative_ sex before."  Stan blushed a deep red and looked off to the side. He sighed and paused before he spoke again.

"I mean, I've done a lot of sex stuff before. Ate out my girl, fingered her, got blowjobs, handjobs, fuckin'... footjobs, that was one time though... we were pretty young. We both didn't want to go that far, we didn't want to risk anything. I had to suck a lot of dick to get my cigarettes in prison, but I just... haven't _put it in_ before, you know? I just didn't think this would be so _different_." 

Rick's expression was very hard to read. He clambered up off of Stan, and sat at the foot of the bed so that his spiny back was to Stan.

"I'm sorry Rick, I guess I don't think of virginity the same way you do, you know?" Stan propped himself up on one of his elbows. "I wasn't trying to lie to you, I didn't-." 

"I know." Rick sighed and reached for something on the side table. 

"Why did you care so much, anyway?" Stan asked. "So what if you think you took my virginity-"

At that, Rick seemed to choke on his spit. "Holy shit, I really just did, didn't I?" Rick coughed into his fist. 

Stan looked at him sourly. "Agree to disagree." 

Rick finally turned to look at him. "Stanley, I'm the first person you've fucked. As in stuck your dick in. How is this even a question?" 

Stan's face fell, but he tried to cover it up. It hadn't really occurred to him like that. Even though he was being stubborn, the more Rick talked the more he started to doubt what he'd thought before. Maybe Rick really had just...  
  
"Crap." Stan ran a hand down his face.

"You just lost your virginity. To me. Just now." Rick was, to Stan's surprise, sort of enthusiastic by this. 

"What's the big deal?" Stan growled in his defense. "I thought _you_ said this sort of thing was 'underwhelming.' "

"It **was** , when it was with some random chick I was having a one night stand with! Not now, not when it was with--with  _you_! With someone--" Rick held his head in his hands. "This is...uhhhh, this is a lot to take in." 

"It's no big deal, okay?" Stan hated how much Rick's reaction was causing him to be a little panicky, too. "It doesn't really mean much of anything to me. It's okay." 

Rick turned around, with a slightly altered pen-like device that had first blasted a black crater into the floor of the living room. Stan's eyes widened and he jerked, his arms shielding himself. 

"Oh, hell no! Point that thing somewhere else." Stan warned him, trying to keep the fearful waver out of his voice. "Rick, I mean it. Don't use that thing on me." 

"It's been safety tested, now, Stanley, so let's clean us up." Rick smirked. "It'll work. I promise." 

Stan scrambled up and pushed back toward the wall. "Rick, _don't_ \--! Don't use that thing--!" 

"Come on, Stan, you're going to disrespect those lab rats? Le-let all those rats die in vain? They would have wanted their miserable little lives to mean something--" 

" _Rick_ \--!" Stan threw his arm up to shield himself, scrunching his eyes shut. But it worked perfectly, of course. The pen scanned out and released a beam of gentle, yellow light that felt a lot like a patch of warm sunlight through a window. Stan rubbed his hand along his stomach, it was perfectly clean and it left his skin pleasantly warm, like after dipping a hand into a hot bath to test the waters. 

"Oh." Stan said, genuinely surprised, and the two began to laugh. Rick snuggled up to Stan again, both of them laughing hard and wrapping their arms around each other. Rick straddled Stan and kissed him deeply, cutting his laughter short. Stan's hands wandered up his bare back, found each other, and interlocked over his spine.

They kissed lazily for what felt like a long time, before Rick pulled away and just stared into Stan's eyes for a moment. 

"I'm... really your first?" Rick asked quietly, his brows drawn down over his eyes with shame.

Instead of argue again about _technically this_ and _what about that_ , Stan simply nodded at him this time.

Rick didn't kiss him again. It was hard to Stan to read his emotion-- maybe even Rick himself didn't know. Then, he pulled away, yanked on his boxers, and padded out of the room back to his own bed in the other room.

Stan listened to his footfalls fade and stared up at the ceiling, and its ringed water mark. He hooked his palms under his head and heaved out a heavy sigh. Rubik's Cube Rick, all over again. It was so hard for him to figure him out.

Couldn't anything just be _simple_ with him, for once? 


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You eat some healthy snacks, and the next thing you know you've been transformed into a piping-hot pool ball. That's just life. That's just the way life is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's Chapter 14, part 2! Thanks for reading, everyone, but just so you all know... I literally have no idea what I'm doing!!!!!!! :)))) *wheezes*  
> Warnings for: mentions of death, dubious consent, blood, self-harm, and disease (AIDS, which used to be called GRID).

"Stan!" Rick hissed desperately, rolling Stan's slumbering shoulder where he crouched next to his bed. "Pines! Wake up!" 

Stan peeked open an eye groggily, and rubbed the crust out of it. "What?" He snapped, irritated. "Fuck do you want?" 

"Please tell me you hid that football somewhere." Rick's face was concerned enough to make out his expression in the murky pre-dawn light. He frowned, waiting for Stan to wake up enough to respond, in a frog-crouch with his legs spread out wide and folded together, one hand positioned in between them on the floor. 

"No, I didn't touch it since we got back. Why?" Stan grumbled, running a hand down his face. He sat up in bed and threw off his covers, forgetting for a moment that he'd fallen asleep nude, in nothing but his black ankle socks. He grabbed his boxers on the floor and pulled them on, yawning groggily. He noticed Rick's clothes, everything but his boxers, still remained in lumps next to his bed.

"Because it's missing. Because someone stole it!" Rick finally gripped the box spring for leverage and stood up to pace the room, he clapped his hand to his forehead in distress. 

"Rick, calm down. No one  _stole_  it. Why would someone break in and take a stupid football, of all things?" Stan pulled the small device deep in his ear canal out by the string and put it back onto his bedside table, his actions clearly a motion out of habit by now. 

"Because it was another  _Rick_ , that's why!" Rick covered his eyes with his fingers, then dragged them down his cheeks. "I should have known those bastards would pull something like this-" 

"Hey," Stan finally stood up and grasped onto Rick's elbow, trying to still him and stop him from the nervous pacing. "It was just a dumb ball. If we want another one there's loads lost in the bushes behind the goal posts at the high school down the street." 

Rick stopped in his tracks, glaring down at Stan. "No. I can't let him win. I bet the odds that we got  _this_  ball at  _this_  game were a billion to one. It's not about the ball, it's about the odds, it's about the fact this football was the thing that-" Rick stopped himself before he went on, hoping he didn't give away how much it meant to him in sentiment. 

"I'm getting it back." Rick declared instead, turning around and heading for the door. "It might be a few days," He said nonchalantly, waving his hand vaguely. 

"Great." Stan nearly spat. "Yeah, just run off. For a few days. Great idea." For being so smart, Rick really could be thick sometimes. Stan crossed his arms, silently urging Rick to speak up first. Rick didn't, only stared blankly right back at Stan. 

"You know, it would have been nice if you'd-" Stan stopped himself this time, swallowing nervously. He knew this would lead to an argument, but there was no stopping now. He cleared his throat. "I dunno. Spent the night, with me, yesterday." Stan finally mumbled, and found he couldn't look at Rick again as warmth crept up his neck and glowed from his cheeks. "You kind of just ran off. We didn't even get to talk about it, why you got mad about the whole.... virginity thing. You just left." 

Rick's brow crumpled. "Stan, oh shit. No, I wasn't--I wasn't  _angry_." Rick played with his hands, twisting the rings around his fingers. "Look, I don't have time to explain right now. I have a football thief to catch."  

Rick rapidly typed into the spherical Rick Tracker. "Now, how does this thing work..." Rick passed through a few different pixel menus, until he finally found the 'Frequent Ricks' list. He raised his eyebrow, not expecting to actually see a name he recognized.

"Bubblegum...who...took...my...damn...football..." Rick mumbled each word as he typed it out onto the screen. 

"Rick-" Stan stood up, used his bulk to stop Rick in his tracks. Stan was fuming now, arms firmly crossed, demanding that Rick look at him in the eye. "How could you just fuck me and leave? You left even after I told you it was... my... first time, why did you do that?" 

"Listen, you lied to me! That's why I was mad!" Rick finally let the tracker hang in his hand. "I wouldn't have gone that far with you right then if I knew you were a virgin. We could have worked up to it, or-or something! So sorry for, you know, listening to what you told me?"

Stan stood still, clamping down hard on his forearms, hard enough to feel the bite of his nails into his skin. 

"That's why I asked before we started! So when you said you weren't, I thought maybe it wouldn't be so complicated with---look, it wouldn't have been a big deal if you'd lost it a long time ago, but then all these  _feeelings_  get involved when I'm someone's first, and-"

"Not a big deal?! Feelings involved-- Rick, I'm your roommate! We've been living together for almost five months now, but you really think-- _ughhh_!" Stan finally let go of his arms, he needed the aid of body language to help with his confusion. He indicated to Rick with both arms. "You think that if I'd screwed someone before you, suddenly what happened last night would have been more casual? Is that it? No feelings, no strings, it would have felt like one-night-stand? But no, I was the one who went and made all this a problem because I lost my virginity?"

Rick scowled. "The sex would have been different, if it wasn't your first time. You lied, Stan, and now I'm the bad guy for working with what I was told? That you had experience?" 

"You know, I'm feeling more and more convinced that that wasn't sex, Rick, you just used my body to fuck yourself." Stan's voice was lethally acidic, and both of them reacted to it badly, like they'd been slapped. 

"It's called  _riding_ ," Rick snapped. "But you wouldn't know anything about that, or anything, would you? Judging by how you were scared of your own climax--" Rick's expression fell right after the words left his mouth, he seemed to know immediately he'd gone too far.

Stan's eyes grew wide and shocked, he couldn't believe what he was hearing. His arms hung completely slack by his sides.

"Wait, Stan, I didn't--" Rick threw up his open palms, regret clear across his features with his wild, wide eyes.

"You're such an asshole. You're such a fucking asshole, Rick." Stan's voice warbled with tears that had come on in a rush, just barely beginning to shine in his eyes as he struggled to fight it back. "You know, maybe you should leave. Maybe I don't want to see you for a while." 

"Fine! Then I'll take my sweet time." Rick retorted, going back to look into the tracker.

"Perfect! Yeah, just stay away from me." Stan shoved past him, purposely butting shoulders with him as he made his way to his door.

"Fine, if that's what you say you want, but you know, it's getting harder for me to tell what the _hell_ you really want, Stanley, when every third word out of your mouth is a lie!" Rick followed him out of the room, suddenly aware that he shouldn't really be in it if they were fighting. 

" _Fine!!!_ " Stan spun around and nearly shouted. They both looked up when three hard thumps came from the ceiling from floor above them, another tenant was probably trying to sleep. 

A small ping sounded from the tracker, and Rick squinted at it. "Of course it was Mirror. That bastard. Who else?"

"You should leave now." Stan said through gritted teeth, still keeping his arms firmly crossed over his bare chest.

"I need to think." Rick mumbled as he input information into his portal gun and created the portal, looking at Stan sourly the whole time, his face illuminated by the limey green. "I guess we'll talk about this when I get back."

"Yeah, I guess." Stan echoed bitterly, then clammed up. Rick looked away and stepped through the portal. 

Stan finally let all of his breath rush out of his lungs, and he buried his face in his palms. Rick was right. Stan should have listened to his protests, his hesitations to get involved. Rick was the only person in existence who fully understood himself, and he knew it wouldn't be good to start being with Stan. Stan shook his head and dragged his hands down his cheeks. The fact he thought that this could work just a few days ago was laughable.  

*   *   *

Mirror Rick and his Stan weren't in their apartment, the tracker put them somewhere about four blocks away. Rick followed it the small pinging dot, pocketing the device into his lab coat, and began to walk down the dirty sidewalks that had become so familiar over the past few months. He closed his eyes and tried to pretend that maybe he wasn't in an alternative universe, that he was in his own, that maybe Stan was still fast asleep in their apartment, that maybe he'd surprise him with a cup of coffee, none of that disgusting instant shit they always drank.

Stan was cute in the mornings. Not conventionally cute, by any means; he was pretty gross by most people's standards. His morning breath was totally disgusting, acne reddened and healing from some of the picking at it Stan had probably done the night before, he wasn't ever very good at getting an even shave, eyelids swollen, pink sheet marks pressed to his face, his brown mullet scruffy, a stained tee shirt that inevitably would ride up to his chest and display his small paunch. He was always so pissed off, too, spitting mad most times. If he rolled into the wall and that woke him up, he'd eye it like he'd want to put a fist through it.

Rick pinched his flask between his teeth and took a few deep, burning mouthfuls. He wished he could do something a little harder, maybe snort down a line, it had been a while but he felt like injecting something but that would be great, too. 

It had only been two days, and already he'd fucked it all up. Stan deserved so much better than him, and Rick knew it. That didn't change how much he still wanted it all. The smell of buttered popcorn, Stan's awed expression as he'd run his hands along the stolen football. The way his brown curls had halo'd around his head last night where he lay on his back, hands curled around Rick's waist and his fingers digging in deep, but that was the only thing that wasn't painstakingly gentle. Usually, just his nose was ruddy, but last night the blush had extended to his cheeks, his ears, and upper chest, too, the way his lips shone with their shared spit, the way his eyelids fluttered or his mouth opened when-

Rick didn't want to think about it anymore. Nervously, he flicked open his zippo lighter, flicking the flame on and off, staring at how it danced.

He wanted pain, right now.

"Fuck." He huffed, gritting his teeth and pinching the bridge of his nose. He hadn't self-harmed in about nine days, or it might have even been ten. It was, unfortunately, one of his longer stretches. Rick dipped into one of the alleys, clothes lines strung up overhead with dresses and shirts airing out like banners. He could smell the sourness from the dumpster further inside, and so instead of venture in any further he dipped in close to one of the walls scrawled with graffiti and hunched over to hide what he was doing. He ignited the flame again with a faint scrape, and stuck his pointer finger into the flame. The white flame split in two underneath the finger, and he held it there until he could smell it and the sharp pain focused his mind. 

Wearily, he let the sheathe slip over the lighter once again and he pocketed it. He sighed and wound a bandage around the blackened skin, then experimentally pressed the nail of his thumb against the spongey part that was above the worst part of the burn, and was he met with a good, intense spike of hurt.  _Good_ , he thought, and continued down the street. He could just dig his nail into the band-aid when Stan came to his mind again, and the pain could cut through it all. 

The tracker led him to the high school down the block. Rick's nose wrinkled in disgust. "Gross," He mumbled aloud. He hated schools, especially  _public_  schools. He continued through the abandoned outdoor lockers and hallways, chasing the pinging dot on the tracker.  

They were the only two out on the football field this early, so they were easy to spot. Tossing the football around, running, tackling and wrestling each other to the ground. Rick stopped in his tracks at the top of the bleachers, his mouth hanging open and he didn't care to shut it.

"Holy shit," Rick whispered. "I'm hot."

Mirror Rick might have looked pretty healthy the last time he'd seen him, but this was drastic. He wasn't wearing a shirt, but instead of defined ribs, a sunken chest, and a concave stomach, he was actually, kind of...  _buff_. His arms weren't twigs barely capable of even holding himself up, but had rounded muscles that pushed up against the skin from underneath and flashed deep lines as the muscles flexed and released. Rick watched as the alternate version of himself sent the stolen football sailing, all the way across the field to his Stan at the end zone. Rick saw Stan pointing, and saw Mirror turn around and visor his eyes from the morning light. 

Mirror waved his kind-of-buff arm over his arm in a wide, inviting wave. Rick clamped down on his jaw and descended the staircase, irritated at how he was already puffing when he wasn't even halfway down yet. He felt like he was swimming in his coat all of the sudden. 

"Brown-Hair! I knew you'd come!" Mirror called out and jogged over to him, and Rick couldn't help but feel like he was almost showing off how good he looked. Rick couldn't stop staring at his pectorals, their healthy rounded curves, the abs that looked just shy of emerging a six-pack. Rick felt stupidly disappointed when Mirror pulled on his shirt and took a swig of water.

Stan also jogged over, the stolen football tucked under one arm.

"Hey, Rogue. Long time, no see." Stan greeted him with a raised arm, and Rick was grateful that it didn't show on his face how different the two Ricks now appeared. Like he needed to feel any shittier today.

"It's been about a year." Mirror told him after he'd swallowed his mouthful of water and swiped at the back of his mouth. Right, the whole time-going-faster thing here. "Figured out how to use that tracker yet?"

Rick put up a hand, pissed off. "Yeah, well, kind of. It would be cool to pick up the manual. But, for now, I'm wondering _why you stole my motherfucking footb-_ -"

Before Rick could even finish, Stan had already thumped the slightly sweaty ball up against Stan's stomach.

" _Oof_ ," Rick huffed, and snaked his palms around the ball again and held it against his stomach. His eyebrows threaded together, and in confusion his head tilted to one side.

Stan chuckled, running a hand through his hair and using the sweat to push it back out of his face. "Sorry. I tried to tell Rick stealing it wasn't cool, but you know. He said it would get your attention." 

Rick turned to Mirror, cradling the ball like a baby, and quirked up an eyebrow. "And why would you need my attention? For me to come here?" His expression soured. "Mirror, if this is about, m-me and Stan, I don't want to hear it, and you should stay the fuck out of my personal business--"

"It's not about Stan. But, I did see that the percentage of Ricks that are together with their Stans spiked to almost 97 percent recently, so statistically, you guys probably hooked up. Congrats." Mirror looped his arm around Rick's shoulder, he smelled of clean sweat: unlike Rick's, which always came out of him smelling alcoholic. He began to guide him away, his expression hardened. "I needed some way to get you here, and bring my Tracker. I've created a basic one for myself, it's kind of a functioning prototype, but it works well enough to use some of the features. I needed the real one, though."

"Why?" Rick hissed. "Is this about the Council?" 

"Yeah." Mirror grunted, anxious and very serious, finally leading Rick to exit the field to the street. He took his arm away, and instead he held both of Rick's shoulders and looked very intensely into his eyes.

"Look, I think it's pretty clear I didn't bring you here just so we could fuck again." Despite everything, Mirror's lips couldn't help but tug upward into a small smirk. 

"That  _was_  fun, though." Rick smirked back at him, and flashed him a wink. Mirror smiled back, squeezing harder onto Rick's shoulders. 

"Plus, I went home and stuck with your one-Rick one-Stan rule, so, I'm pretty sure you owe me a blowjob." Rick continued to motormouth, sweeping his eyes up and down Mirror Rick and capturing his lips in his teeth. Normally, he'd let that slide, but damn, he looked good in this dimension. 

Mirror shook his head and ran a hand down his face, chuckling. "Crap. Okay, fine, yeah, I guess I do. But Rogue, we have to get serious for a second here." 

Stan emerged from the field and dragged the chain-link fence closed behind him, and locked it with a large ring with multiple keys on it. Rick screwed up his face and pointed, silently asking Mirror for an explanation. 

"Stan coaches here." Mirror explained flippantly. Stan smiled sunnily at Rick and pocketed the keys with a jingle. 

"JV shot put." Stan hiked his thumb over his shoulder to the field again. "I'm trying to work my way up to football." Stan smiled shyly, scrubbing at the back of his head. He was proud of himself, for once. It was a good look on him.

Rick pressed his thumbnail hard into the band-aid over his burn, and tried to not let the spike of pain show on his face. 

"Come on, let's go somewhere safer." Mirror toted Rick along the sidewalk, his pace much faster than what Rick was used to going. "Let's get to the Lab."

"Mirror, what is this all about?" Rick felt his stomach constrict at the urgency of it all. He pinched at his alternate self's lab coat, pulling him backward to step in line with him. "Just tell me now. I can tell how stressed out you are." 

Mirror met his eyes for a brief second, like it was painful to fully look at him. He chewed down on his jaw with his eyes narrowed. 

"Fine. Look." Mirror stopped suddenly, and Rick clumsily bumped into his back. Stan stopped too, looking from Rick to Mirror and knowing he'd probably be asked to leave. 

"This is about "Rick stuff" I couldn't possibly understand, huh?" Stan asked, looking peeved. He shoved both hands into the pockets of his pants, and looked to Mirror. "You probably want to talk alone, right?" 

"Thanks, baby. I'll meet you at home, okay?" Mirror smiled sadly at him. 

Stan shrugged, turned on his heel, and began to whistle as he walked up the street with his shoulders sagging.

"He's such a grump." Mirror mused as he watched him go. 

"I know," Rick said, also watching his back. 

"You love it." Mirror once again turned to Rick, smirking.

"I know." Rick dug his nail into his burn again, twisting it this time.  _Goddammit_.

 Mirror made sure Stan was far enough away and out of earshot before he passed his tongue over his lips and grabbed onto both of Rick's arms again. 

"The Council is worse that we thought." Mirror whispered to him in a feverish rush. "So much worse. I know it was obvious that it was going to play its hand at killing Ricks, y'know,  _trimming the hedges_  of Rick-volution through the multiverse or whatever, but..."

Rick didn't like where this was going at all. The Ricks looked sadly at each other, both already understanding what hadn't even been said yet. 

"You think they're going to kill you." Rick whispered. "Are you sure?" 

"It's not an 'if' right now, Rogue, it's a 'when'." Mirror explained. "I haven't told Stanley yet. Every time I try, I....I just can't." 

"Wha... _Why?!_ " Rick fisted the front of Mirror's shirt, gripping hard and drawing the two of them even closer.

"Take a good look at me, Double-R, and tell me: what's different about me from every other Rick you've met??" Mirror's eyes had gone wide, and a bit wild, he looked like a person that knew his death was going to happen at any time, his expression was a little unhinged, his salvia a little too foamy to be normal. 

"You're healthy." Rick answered without a beat. 

"Exactly." Mirror shot back, but it just made Rick even more confused. 

"Then why would they want to kill you?! This makes no sense--the healthy should be the one who have the highest rate of survivability, right? They'll be the ones who contribute the most to Ricks overall average?" 

"Yeah, but." Mirror sucked in a breath. "The Council. Let me tell you, Rick, forget the stupid cutesy codenames, this is  _the most_ corrupt group of shitty people you could ever even imagine. Every bad trait of ours, amplified, multiplied--"

"Jealousy." Rick breathed, letting his hands unclench from the fabric and fall to his sides. "Why--how could they do this?" Rick was hit with another thought. "Wait, if you knew--why did  **you**  do this?" 

"I was tired of it, Rick. I didn't want to be weak and sick and addicted for one more second." Mirror's nails bit into Rick's shoulders, and he shook him in desperation. "I have a few Rick friends, like you and Bubblegum, and I--" Tears had sprung into his eyes, and both Ricks didn't seem to be expecting it. Rick reached out to his alternate and cradled his face in his palms, even the fat and muscles in his face felt foreign. Mirror slipped his head above Rick's shoulder and clamped him into a firm hug. Rick could feel him trembling. 

"They kill the healthy," Mirror whispered, pulling away but keeping his arms wrapped around Rick's back. "Because... well, you really should read the manual, Rogue, there's some crazy statistics that this tracker can tell you. This Council... I know you don't want to think about it, but I have to ask, are you one of the Ricks who..." 

Rick was utterly confused again.

"Who what?" Rick insisted. "Come on, Mirror, if we don't have a lot of time here, just spit it out!" 

"Are you... a Rick who contracted GRID?" Mirror asked in an uncomfortable sigh, and Rick stiffened on instinct. It looked like it pained Mirror to even ask. Rick shoved him out of his arms without a word and began to stride down the sidewalk toward the apartment, hands clamped into fists. 

"Rou-- _Rick_!" Mirror jogged after him, grabbing him by the shoulder. "Stop!" 

Rick spun around and glared at him with a look of betrayal. "Fuck you." He spat, his heart pounding, and not from the brisk walk. Thinking about that, remembering, the trauma was more than Rick could handle sometimes. "Fuck you for asking me that." 

Mirror adamantly shook his head, taking Rick's cheek into one hand while the other squeezed the meat of his neck. "Look, I know you're clean now. All of them are, after Ricks transdimensionally found the cure. I'm sorry, but I had to ask, okay? The first Ricks to cure themselves are what formed the council, that was the motivation for why we banded together in the first place. Working together, they were the first ones to crack the cure. The original council members." 

" _Oh_ ," Rick gasped. Rick couldn't believe he didn't put the pieces together himself earlier. It all made sense now, the timeline was such a perfect fit now that he'd had it pointed out to him.

"That's how they got their first recruits, too. They went across dimensions to distribute medicine to all of the Ricks that were infected, gaining their loyalty by curing them." Mirror explained wildly. "It just kept growing from there. I mean, we all more or less share a brain, so other Ricks figured out the cure themselves too, eventually. Like you did, I'm guessing." 

Rick didn't reply, only set his lip and crossed his arms. 

"I promise I'm going somewhere with this." Mirror insisted. "Look, the Original Councilmembers hold pretty much all of the power. They're kind of drunk on it. They can do anything they want." 

"Yeah, well, to be expected from a Rick." Rick finally replied, pinching his nose in distress yet again. "They get jealous of healthy Ricks, then."

"Jealous, yeah. The majority of Ricks contracted and then got cured, so, they'll never be able to be really healthy again. But also, they think it's going to create, y'know, rebellion.  _Easy_  rebellion. Healthy versus sick. Tell me, who has the advantage there?"  

"Fuck." Rick swept his eyes up and down the length of Mirror Rick's body once again. " _Fffuck._ " He repeated, then reached out to grasp Mirror Rick by the elbow and keep walking back, his lips set in a scared scowl.

"I had to know." Mirror stumbled after him, desperately trying to defend himself. "You might not understand my choice. I wanted to live the rest of my life like this, and I... we needed to know for sure."

"Let's get one thing straight." Rick stopped in front of their apartment door, waiting for Mirror to fish out his keys. Keys across dimensions were always a tricky thing, so were card games and dice rolls. "There is no 'we', here. I'm glad you're telling me this, but--"

Mirror jammed the key into the door and then looked to Rick, a flash of betrayal on his face.

"Rogue." Mirror growled, very seriously. "I need you in on this. You're one of the only Ricks still on the outside. One of the only Ricks that knows I'm getting to the bottom of this, one of my only friends." 

Rick planted his feet, deciding he wasn't going to come into the apartment. He liked Mirror, they were compatible Ricks, but he had no idea what he was signing himself up for. 

"Mirror, you can't know what you're asking for from me." Rick hated to do this, but without a little bit of self-preservation, he'd probably have died years ago. "Yeah, the Council is fucked up. No, I don't think they can just kill any Ricks they want. But--" Now, this bit was going to be very tough for him to admit. "I don't want to get involved, I- I can't. I'm not going to." 

Mirror immediately pushed him inside and against the wall in their kitchen, and punched him hard with his fist. Rick felt something warm burst into his mouth and his tongue recoiled at the taste like pennies. 

" _Errghhh,_ not--not cool!" Rick sputtered, his vision swimming for a moment. His head had knocked pretty hard against the wall at Mirror's rough shove.

Mirror grabbed onto his clothes and brought his face close, his eyes wide and rolling with desperation once again. "I can't run away from this. You're just someone that can lie low until they have a reason to care. Me? They won't give up until I'm dead, Rick. I've seen this so many times. None of the triads have clean hands anymore. Even mine. They're not going to stop until they find me, until I'm dead. The Ricks that run-- they don't last for very long."

"Bring Stan with you." Rick offered meekly, smearing at his busted lip with the back of his hand. "His neutralization...if you just found some way to boost it, he's... it could be powerful. It could be enough." 

"Newsflash, me and you aren't the only ones with neutralizers, Rick, and his brainwaves are even stronger when we have sex, but even that's not enough." Mirror spritzed Rick in the face with instant healer, and Rick recoiled and screwed up his face, shaking his head. His lip immediately healed over, and Rick was almost disappointed at the quick regression of the pain.

"Sorry about the punch." Mirror mumbled, looking hollowed out from his burst of intense energy. "I'm kind of backed up into a corner, here. Look, I want you to take all my council tech. Bubblegum is my best friend, and he can tell you everything else that you need to know about who's with us, and who's against us. There's three Assassin Ricks, okay, and--"

 "Whoa." Stan's eyes flicked from Rick's face to Mirror's, he saw the way Mirror desperately clutched to the lapels of Rick's lab coat. Stan came up and gently tugged Mirror away from Rick. 

"Okay, gig's up. Right now." Stan said gruffly, narrowing his eyes at Mirror. "What the hell is going on, Rick?" 

"Stan, I..." Mirror croaked, the flood of tears had returned to his eyes. Before he could explain himself, the Rick Tracker in Rick's pocket began to beep shrilly. Both of their eyes snapped to Rick's lab coat. Mirror's terrified eyes flicked from Rick's face down to his pocket, desperately telling him without words that he needed to check it  _now_.

"I bet that's for me." Rick tried his best, but it fell completely flat. 

Neither Stan nor Mirror looked like they were even the least bit convinced, and Mirror decided to take action and punched through into Rick's pocket and scrambled to look at the screen on the device. Now that it wasn't under a layer of cloth, the tracker was screaming in such an obnoxious way that it made him question if it might have been partially sentient. Dots indicating other Ricks traveling in threes peppered the screen, more and more popping up every second.

"Get out of here, Brown-Hair." Mirror snapped at him. "You can come back later for my stuff. Trust me, you don't want to see this." 

Stan clamped desperately to Mirror's shoulders, forcing him to face him square on. "Tell me what's going on, Rick." Stan begged. 

"I should have told you." Tears sprang to Mirror's eyes all over again. "Stanley, I'm so, so sorry." 

The first Ricks to appear were only two. One had a very strange breathing apparatus strapped to his face with a tank like a backpack, burbling a greenish liquid with an ebb and flow through two clear pipes. That Rick had very sleepy eyes, and Rick wondered how he spoke when his nose and mouth were covered with a triangular muzzle-like piece of plastic full of liquid. He smelled like a public swimming pool, so Rick could only assume he was breathing some kind of chlorine. The other one simply had a silver lip ring hooked onto the corner of his bottom lip, and by the cold way he stared at Mirror, Rick could tell they weren't compatible. That, and he just looked really, really mean. 

"Your---Rick, why is your triad here?" Stan stepped back away from them, his eyes flitting around the room. Rick knew that look--the 'piecing everything together' look. 

"Rogue! Leave, _now!_ " Mirror insisted through gritted teeth, but Rick decided to plant his feet and stay exactly where he was. 

Neither of Mirror's group spoke, the only sound was the rush and gurgle of the liquid breathing apparatus, the two only watched as another portal stretched open, and out stepped the group consisting of Mustache, Bubblegum and Amputee. 

"Hands up." Bubblegum didn't do a very convincing job as he pointed his gun at Mirror. His facial expressions seemed to be battling with each other, he clamped down on his lip as he looked at his best friend. 

"What's this about?" Mirror asked, he wasn't doing a very convincing job either as he raised his palms above his head. 

"Yeah, what the hell _is_ this about?" Stan demanded, stepping in front of Mirror and getting directly into the line of fire. "He hasn't done anything against the Council. Why are you-"

"He'll be a distraction, set to stun." Mustache ordered, monotone, nodding to Stan, and just seconds later Bubblegum's gun steamed and Stan was just a lump on the floor. Bubblegum was really doing a terrible job of hiding how terrified he was about this, sweat beaded from his upper lip and the gun shook before he hastily shoved it back into his belt.

"Brown..." Mirror's voice was already strained. "Get Stan safe. Please." 

"Don't move." Mustache smiled in a twisted way as he shouldered a rifle. A tactical red laser dot danced over Mirror's chest, finally settling directly over his heart.

"You got the wrong side you _fuuuckking_  IDIOT!" Mirror jabbed at the right side of his chest with his pointer finger. Mustache seemed to realize his mistake immediately and with an embarrassed scowl the laser streaked across his chest and wavered on the correct side. Mirror, despite everything, dramatically rolled his eyes.

Rick struggled hard to pull Stan, inch by inch, to safety in the kitchen. He huffed, trying to regain his breath, leaning with his hands on his knees. Man, it would be nice to be at least a _little_ healthier.

"You won't shoot me. That's the Assassin group's job." Mirror's expression dripped with defiance.

"They're on the way now." Mustache still didn't lower the gun. "I, for one, will be _overjoyed_ to see you go. You've got quite a crowd coming, you know."

"Have fun while you can, Mustache." Mirror spat. "They'll turn on _you_ before you can even blink."

The room exploded into green, more and more Ricks pouring in to witness the execution, all circling around Mirror, still kneeling with his palms above his head. Mirror's eyes scanned the crowd of doubles, his upper lip began to tremble. The room filled with excited murmurs and whispers.

Mustache smirked wide, and not once let his gun waver from the spot over Mirror's actual heart. "Hello, everyone!" Mustache boomed. "Let's all witness what happens to a Rick who betrays the Council!" The Ricks all cheered, and Rick slipped into the crowd, trying his best to go unnoticed.

"I didn't do shit!" Mirror snarled at the rapidly growing crowd that circled him, he looked so small from where he knelt on the floor. "The Council's lying! To all of you gullible bastards!"

The last portal to stretch into the room was black this time, and one after another, the three Assassin Ricks stepped out into the room. Rick blinked, he almost couldn't believe his eyes. One of them was _another_ brown-haired Rick, he wore a formal three piece suit in plain black and white, and he had a very large gun just as black as his suit slung diagonally across his back, his eyes were sunken and his face was expressionless. 

The second flounced out of the portal, barely containing his youthful energy. His hair was messier than most of them, and he had a smattering of freckles across his face like a speckled egg. He wore a collared shirt in a cheery yellow, and light mint denim shorts. Strapped to his back was something similar to a poster tube but much thicker, with a radius like a drum. He smiled brightly, looking at the kneeling Mirror. Looks were deceiving: the freckles, the energy, his clothing in spring pastels, he was almost _cute_.

"Oh, I know you!" Freckles Rick piped up, approaching Mirror and with one swift movement he pinned Mirror to the floor with his hands behind his back. Freckles quickly tugged a zip tie extremely tight. Mirror grunted out in pain and Freckles manhandled him more, gripping a fistful of his hair and made him look at him in the eyes, smiling maniacally all the while.

"Enough." Formal Rick grunted, narrowing his eyes at Freckles, who let Mirror's hair go with disappointment.

The third from the Assassin group was a few inches shorter than the others, which was Rick's first clue. Most of the Ricks he encountered were all the exact same height as one another. Her face wasn't all that different, with feminization that was barely noticeable, with a softer jawline, less prominent of a brow ridge. She still looked messed up, just like all of the others. Her eyelids fell heavily in sockets with purplish darkened skin, she was rail-thin and had hollows carving out her cheeks. She wasn't very pretty, and she didn't seem to take care of herself very well, like most Ricks. She wore a weird contraption, sort of like a leaf blower strapped to her back with a tube hooked to the side, and visible from the inside were rows of spherical, grey balls lined up like they would be in a skee ball machine.

"So, who are you?" The Rick with the silver lip ring side-eyed Rick, as the three Assassins rolled out a strange tarp taken out from Freckle's tube and forced Mirror to kneel in the middle of it on a targeted spot with the Council symbol at the center, similar to a helipad. Freckles Rick was the one out of the three that seemed creepily enthused by his job, kicking Mirror with the heel of his boot and giggling explosively when Mirror tipped over and caught his balance with his face, resting with his cheek pressed to the target and his butt high in the air. 

"I'm, _uuuhhhhhhhhhhh_......." Rick had to think of a feature that wasn't easily seen physically, but he was drawing a complete blank, he couldn't really think straight when he was seeing this happen to Mirror. "Heart.....  Murmur... Rick?" 

"Heart-Murmur? Cool, man, nice to meetcha. I'm Lip Ring." He stuck out his hand and firmly shook Rick's, as if they were at a cocktail mixer instead of in a circle watching his teammate get executed. "Yeah, Mirror used to be in my triad, can't say I'm too sad to see him go." Lip Ring Rick whispered to Rick from the back of his hand. "He was one of the sluttiest Ricks I've ever met, he's probably fucked half of the Ricks in the multiverse, just... _bleghh_ , fuckin' distasteful." 

It took all the strength Rick had to keep his mouth shut, but he could feel his fists trembling where he held them together. Freckles Rick did more man-handling of Mirror, eventually pinning him to the technological tarp with his boot firmly pressed to his back. Mirror's neck bent at an uncomfortable angle with his cheek squished up against the target, and Formal Rick pressed the barrel of his huge gun to Mirror's temple. Mirror's eyes strained to the side to try and see it, blinking rapidly, and tears streaked sideways out of his eyes. 

Formal Rick looked absolutely destroyed, nothing like Freckles. Formal Rick wore an expression that looked like a mask of grief on his own face, like nothing could make those muscles pliable anymore. Without hesitation, Formal pulled the trigger as easily as he would a spray bottle. The silencer on the gun barely made a sound, except for a quiet zinging. Blood radiated in an explosive sun, just barely contained within the tarp. Formal Rick stepped off the tarp backwards, slowly clipping a strap onto the middle of his chest and returning the gun to rest diagonally on his back. 

Freckles skipped happily off of the tarp, not being careful to avoid stepping in any of the blood, as Formal had. Assassin Rick crossed her arms and turned her head to the side, unable to watch. Freckles slammed his hand down on a green button on a remote he slipped out of his pocket, and the tarp lifted all four corners like arms and devoured Mirror's body, plunging and wrapping around it like some kind of alien creature. 

"Whoa!" Rick yelped and jumped back when a tongue of orange flame burst from the top of the twisting circle, before the flame was stifled and the tarp twisted into something resembling of a kind of gigantic onion. 

"Instant cremation tarp." Lip Ring Rick told him with a smug smile. "Cool, right?! I had a hand in the design." 

The ball continued to writhe and the small crowd of Ricks cheered, and Rick felt sick to his stomach. Finally, the tarp deflated, almost as if it were exhausted, and fell back flat. Steaming hot, in the middle of the target, was an ash-grey, perfect sphere about the size of a pool ball with a serial number printed on it in stark black. 

Assassin Rick stepped onto the tarp, detached the arm from the machine strapped to her back, and sucked up the ball which settled along all of the others into the storage strapped to her back with a soft _clunk_.

"Ahh, gives me chills. Now, that's _efficiency_." Lip Ring told him. "The only problem I have with it is Formal Assassin always insists on wasting a bullet, so that they'll go into it dead. Well, if it were up to _me-"_ Lip Ring leaned really close to Rick, his breath brushing against his ear. "I'd say to save the bullet."

Rick clasped both hands over his mouth, and had no choice but to swallow back the stomach acid that was rising up his throat. He couldn't imagine going into that thing alive, what it would look like, _sound_ like-- and there must have been at least thirty of those balls inside of that storage container, and that was obviously portable. How many...  

Rick met eyes with a devastated Bubblegum from across the room, a knowing glance passed between them. 

 _Leave._ Bubblegum mouthed at him, so subtle that it almost looked as if he'd just parted his lips. Rick slipped away from the group and locked himself in the familiar bathroom, puking his guts out the second he wrapped his arms around the porcelain.

Rick hadn't intended to pass out, since he knew the longer he stayed in this dimension, time flew by at home. He woke to a frantic Stan shoving him back and forth, Stan fell to his knees and shook Rick hard enough by the shoulders so that his head flopped.

"Where is he?!" Stan demanded, his eyes wide and wild, his face was a mess of thick, bubbling snot, tear-stained cheeks that were flushed a deep red, his crying eyes already puffy. "Where the _fuck_ is he, Rogue?"

 Just like that, it all came crashing back to Rick after a little while of comfortable void. Mirror's cheek squished up against the target, his rapid blinks as he strained his eyes sideways to look at the gun pressed to his head. A sun of blood. The burst of flame, like a tongue. The steaming grey sphere. Ricks, just like him, cheering, in his voice. Rick's back curled as he kneeled over the toilet again, dry heaving with an ugly retch, but there was nothing left in his stomach to expel.

" _Rogue?!_ " Stan's fingers dug hard into Rick's thin arms, "Tell me. _Tell me what happened to my Rick!_ " Stan fell onto him at an awkward angle, coughing with sobs. "Please..." He begged, clutching onto Rick, nearly tearing his clothing. 

"He's gone." Rick whispered hoarsely, all the burning acid against his throat had given it a very rough, sandpapered edge. Having mercy on Stan, Rick dug around in his pocket for the knockout device, and clamped a hand over his own eyes as he held it out in front of them and hit the button. Stan fell away from him, and Rick picked his way over his sprawled body. 

 _He's not yours,_ He had to remind himself, repeatedly. 

Rick ransacked the Lab, throwing anything with a Council logo on it and his football into a pack, wiping at his streaming eyes the whole time. He finally tossed up a portal and stumbled towards it, never happier to be going home.

*   *   *

Stan was determined to be the one who stayed angry for this one.

He pulled back again, aimed, and threw the baseball at the chain link fence as hard as he could. It hit with a loud rattle, and rolled back to him. He stepped on it to stop it, geared up, and pitched it hard again, letting a grunt explode out of him. It hit, rolled back. It was almost dark, and it was getting harder to see the ball by now, but once he got into the rhythm of it it was hard to stop. Stan knelt down to grab it again, and he saw the bright green color of a portal burst out of the corner of his eye. 

Stan set his expression and tried to call to mind everything that he'd been ruminating on for the past three days. He threw the baseball again, and this time it actually stuck itself into the diamond in the chain link. Stan brushed his hands off on his pants and finally turned around, ready to face Rick. 

"Well, did you get the stupid football?" He shot out, but the way Rick stumbled from the portal snapped him out of it right away. Rick's face was white as a sheet, he had dried puke down the front of his shirt. 

"Whoa." Stan rushed up to him, let Rick cling onto him and Stan quickly shouldered the pack he was carrying instead. "Rick--what happened? Did you get hurt?!" 

Rick snapped his eyes shut, shook his head slowly and looked like he struggled to even breathe. Stan hooked his arm around his torso and let him lean onto him, dragging him back to the apartment as Rick stumbled. 

"Let's get you home." Stan grunted, more or less carrying him as he held him close to his side. 

"I watched him die." Rick whispered feverishly into Stan's neck. "I've n-never seen another Rick die before." 

 Stan parted his lips, about to ask, but thought better of it and instead just rushed to unlock the front door. Rick collapsed on the couch and curled up, hugging onto his knees.

Stan swiftly tugged to get his soiled shirt off. He ducked into his room and grabbed whatever shirt was at the top of his drawer, and he helped Rick into it, tugging until he saw Rick's head of wild hair and then yanked it so Rick's face popped out. Stan tugged Rick's blanket off of his windowside bed and wrapped it around his shoulders, letting it hood over Rick's head. Stan crouched in front of him, shoving all of his anger and frustration aside for the moment. He rubbed his palm up and down Rick's arm, like he was trying to warm him up. Rick stared back at him, pitiful, his eyes blank.

"Okay, Rick. What do you mean you saw another Rick die?" Stan asked, rubbing faster and trying to get some warm friction going. "What happened while you were gone?" 

Rick made that minuscule shake of his head again, squeezing his eyes shut again so hard that wrinkles folded all along his face. He stuck his arms out, silently beckoning for Stan to come into them. Stan looked to Rick's face, then the outstretched arms, thought about their fight just before Rick had ran off again. Stan still pulled forward into his arms, let Rick cling to him and wrap his bony arms around him, and now Stan could feel the way he trembled softly, deep from within his chest. Stan sank into the couch and pulled Rick on top of him, rubbing his palm over and over against the curve of Rick's back.

"The Council." Rick's voice trembled when he finally did speak up, it was still rough. Rick swallowed back tears, and pulled away from the crook of Stan's neck to look into his face. Stan wiped a tear away with his thumb when it leaked out of the corner of his eye. Stan gently stroked his hair, pushed a strand away from his forehead.

"Tell me everything." Stan told him firmly. "I should know this."

"Stan..." Rick whimpered. "I can n-never be healthy again." 

"What do you mean?" Stan nearly gasped, closing his arms closer around him. His eyebrows drew hard down over his eyes. "What--how do you know this, Rick?" 

"If I get healthy--healthy enough to be a threat--" Rick hiccuped a sob, digging his fingers in hard to Stan's ribs in his back. "They ki-killed him. They--" 

" _Shhhh_. Relax. You're safe here, take your time." Stan buried his nose in Rick's hair and kissed the top of his head, he didn't quite know what else to say. "Calm down. Rest." 

"I'm not mad at you, for earlier." Rick whispered. "I need you to know that. I... I just keep getting pulled in deeper into this with you, and that's really fucking scary, there's so much that you _do_ that's only going to made it harder when I have to leave, and I saw-- another you was there, after he died. And I saw how you--"

Rick swallowed his next words, unable to go on. Stan had heard enough. 

"I'm here. You're here." Stan told him, pulling him in tighter and squeezing him gently. "We're both okay. That was a different dimension, Rick, not ours. We're okay."

"I fucked up." Rick mumbled into his shoulder. "Stan, I really-- I should have read between the lines, I should have seen you didn't have experience, I should have known you lied. I shouldn't have kept going when I saw you were nervous, even when you told me you wanted it. The situation was easy to read, but I-- God, you never should have needed to ask me to kiss you more, I should have just been doing it, I..." Rick stopped himself, his shoulders jerked with a suppressed sob. 

Stan shook his head. "I shouldn't have done some of the things I did, too. I tried to pretend like I knew what I was doing, but I didn't even have a _clue_ , I kept telling you I was ready--" 

Rick interrupted. "We know each other better than this. Why did we even--how did we let this happen?"  

Stan rubbed his open palm down Rick's back. "I dunno. It was just--new, and exciting, and... yeah. We got ahead of ourselves. Got too eager." 

"I wanted you for so long, Stanley." Rick admitted, curling his palms and clutching onto the back of Stan's tee. "So, so long." 

Stan hummed at that, overwhelmed, and found his eyes forcing themselves shut. He pressed his nose into Rick's hair on the crown of his head, kissing wherever his lips pressed from there, which happened to be just slightly above his eyebrow. 

"We can try it all over again," Stan said. "I'd like that." 

"Okay," Rick huffed, pressing his nose to Stan's neck and hiding his face there. "Yeah, Stan, we just... we gotta go slower." 

"Yeah. And well, it wasn't half bad, just so you know." Stan whispered. "I know I--towards the end, I sort of was--but, what I mean is..." Stan had to snort out a soft laugh. "It really did feel right, Rick. I knew what you meant when you told me that. I felt it too." 

Rick nuzzled in closer to his neck, and Stan shifted his hooked arm higher up his back. 

"I learned that with all the dimensions with you in my life, we're now together in about 97% of them." Rick told him. 

"Cool. A-plus." Stan teased. "Sorry, Rick. Percents still don't mean all too much to me outside of one dimension." 

Rick hugged him closer instead of replying. Stan chuckled. 

"Plus it didn't feel all too bad, either." Stan said. "I. _Ehem_. Sort of had a dream about it when you were gone. A really good one." He paused a moment. "And honestly, I can count the amount of sex dreams I've had on two hands." 

Rick finally let out a weak chuckle, rubbing and adjusting his nose under Stan's jaw. He sighed, his breath warm against Stan's skin. 

"I don't want to do that again. Leave you behind, here." Rick mumbled into his skin. "From now on..." 

"Whenever you ask, I'll come with you." Stan whispered, adjusting his arms around Rick once more, and adjusted his head so Rick could use his cheek as a pillow. "You should sleep, Rick. You've been through a lot." 

"Stan-" Rick whimpered, cutting himself off once again. He took Stan's offered cheek and rest his own against it, trying to force himself to take even, deep breaths. 

Stan's rubbing found a rhythm on his back, Rick snaked his limbs to tangle around him. Stan held him even after he knew he fell asleep, his face resting against Stan's chest, Rick's limbs relaxed and drooped, but his face twitched from the nightmare he was having: a smooth, grey sphere, whitish steam swirling away from it, with a "C-137" stamped onto it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize Stan and Rick's relationship isn't the smoothest thing in the world, and that some stuff that I'm writing can be a little uncomfortable, so I'm sorry for that :/  
> Even though this is a fanfic and I could just make it super fluffy with minimal problems, I don't know, I kind of wanted to show things being hard. Stan is mainly frustrated with being asexual, even though he knows he has romantic feelings for Rick. He's not sex-repulsed (some asexuals are), but it does cause him distress. And Rick has a whole bunch of his own problems with relationships, too.
> 
> SO, if you ever think something needs tagging, please let me know!!!


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you think the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence, try testing how green it is in infinite dimensions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I once again had to split this chapter into 2 parts because I have no self control. This is Part 1, and Part 2 will be the next chapter :-) Sorry if it's a little uneventful, it's a bit of a filler.

" _Nooo_ , c'mon, Rick." Stan grumbled as Rick climbed off of him much too early in the morning. "At least move to your bed," He whined, snaking his arm around Rick's waist. "You should get more sleep." 

Rick pressed a gentle kiss to his sandpapery cheek, all the while slipping off of being on top of him.

"I'm fine, Lee, go back to sleep." He whispered, and Stan sighed in complaint but readjusted his arm, freeing Rick. Rick had slept so roughly he'd rather be awake and getting things done than wasting more time trying to sleep, and he realized that there was so much of Mirror's tech that he could start to dig into.

Rick poured over the manual for the Tracker, he could barely read the small print in the early light glowing in from his window. He alternated between flipping a page and taking pulls from his bottle of whiskey with loud sloshes that sounded amplified in the quiet room. He sat criss-cross on the floor in front of the couch and used the coffee table, Stan slept softly on the couch behind him on his stomach with one arm hanging off of the side, he'd fallen back asleep easily enough.

Rick disconnected a few colorful cords and settled the spherical machine in his lap. He peered over and cross-referenced the manual once more, he was both excited and terrified to finally access the statistics calculator Mirror was always talking about.  

"Okay," Rick let out a terse sigh, trying to shove aside the fear of finding out some things he might not like, and began to thumb and type at the keypad. "How many Ricks have a body mass index higher than 18?"  
  
He hit the enter button, and waited patiently. At first, nothing showed up on the screen. Rick shook it gently, and the message " _Calculating..._ " appeared. And stayed like that for another three solid minutes.  
  
Rick leaned over the table and thumbed through the manual. _Instant calculation!_ it advertised. He groaned in frustration, almost loud enough to wake Stan slumbering away on the couch, as the screen winked out and went blank again. The thing had never malfunctioned before, he hoped he hadn't screwed something up when he'd been programming it just now.

 _Blip!_ A tiny, pixel face suddenly appeared and filled the entirety of the screen.

•︵•

"Oh, come ON." Rick flopped back onto the couch and slapped a hand over his eyes. "Of _course_ it's sentient. Of-fucking-course. Come on, Tracker, please just work for me. It's important."

•︵•

"Okay, what do you want? What do I have to fucking do to make you actually work?" Rick whispered in a hush and pressed enter repeatedly, trying to bug the thing into answering.

 _I miss him...._  
The display flashed for only a moment before:

ᵕ̣̣̣̣̣̣︵ᵕ̣̣̣̣̣̣

  
The 'tears' fell with extremely rough animation, one pixel at a time, like blocks of Tetris descending.

"Goddammit. Ughhhh, _dammit_. Why do Ricks always have to give their machines feelings? Why do we always do this?" Rick accidentally did wake Stan up this time. 

"Hm," Stan grunted, smacking his lips and running his hand down his face. "Murnin'," He mumbled, almost indecipherably. "What's this about robots and feelings?"

"My tracker. It's being stubborn." Rick rapidly typed on the screen, gritting his teeth the whole time. God, why did Ricks always insist on torturing their machines like this.

 _Your Rick is gone._ Rick wrote to it. _He died. I'm Rogue Rick from dimension C137. He gifted you to me. I'm your new owner._

_I do not want a new owner..... I want Rick._

"You of all machines should know that there's pretty much an infinite amount of Ricks!" Rick hissed at it. "Your entire programming is based on-- _come on_. I **_am_** Rick. You should be able to understand that!"

The screen went completely blank again.

"You know what, you're going in time-out until you decide that you're going to work for me." Rick stood up off of the couch and held the device outstretched. "I'm tearing out the wire to y-your battery until you decide to behave."

With a terrified _reet!_  the regular menu finally displayed once again.

"Okay, we're trying this again. How many Ricks have a BMI of over 18?"

_ Calculating... _

_= 9.3846033̅ % weight(kg)/height(m)_ _2_ _ > 18 _

"Nine percent." Rick breathed. "Tracker, just round these numbers. Okay, how many Ricks have a BMI of 20 or more?"

_≈2%   _weight(kg)/height(m)_ _2_ > 20_

"Two." Rick whispered in disbelief and ran a hand down his face. "Shiiiiit."

It could be true, all of it, just according to this. Rick sighed, and just to make himself feel a little less jittery, he input another question secretly, hunching subconsciously more over the machine so Stan wouldn't see it. 

_How many Ricks are--_

Rick had to think for a second about how to phrase it, backpedaling and deleting what he'd typed. He would have to go through a few base questions first.

_How many Ricks have a Stanley Pines in their dimension?_

_≈11% "Stanley Pines" DimensionalOverlap_

_In how many of those, are Ricks and Stanleys in a relationship?_

_≈99.8% "Stanley Pines" RickContact_

"Weird," Rick voiced aloud, wondering if brain wavelength inverse matches always somehow found a way to one another. Rick raised his eyebrows, mind reeling at how much knowledge he could really glean by inputting questions like this. So, it looked like if Rick had close to 100% existence across dimensions, Stan actually only was meant to exist in a little more than ten. Well, that was better than what Stan told him he'd worried about, like he was some kind of fluke and the only one. And it looked like Rick knew his Stan in nearly all of Stan's ten percent, was in some kind of "relationship" with him-- it seemed like the tracker thought it meant more about if he knew him or not. So in about .2, it looked like they'd never met or crossed paths.

"You're typing up a storm. Whatcha doin'?" Stan murmured. He sleepily scratched at his stubble with his fingertips, his eyes fallen closed, as he groped along and trying to feel which parts he'd need to shave. 

"I unlocked the statistics calculator on this thing." Rick answered, leaning back against the couch and brushing his hand down Stan's thigh. "Guess what I just learned, Big Guy. You actually exist in eleven percent of dimensions. No flukes here, buddy." He curled his hand around the back of his knee, and Stan chuckled but folded his leg so that Rick could stretch out and lounge against his thigh.

" _Wow_ ," Stan breathed, he couldn't help but let a large grin stretch across his cheeks. "That's...heh heh...that's really good, isn't it? Wow."

"It is good, Stan. Real good. Come on, any question you want about trans-dimensional statistics. What do you want to know?" Rick waved the device around, waggling his eyebrows. Stan's face told the story within a matter of seconds--excitement, at first, then his expression twisted into something more like grief.

"Tell me how many other Stans didn't break the perpetual motion machine." Stan said, his voice quiet but hardened and detached. "Don't ask me what I mean by that. Just type it."  Stan's body language had transformed into something rigid, too, and Rick got the message easily enough. He slipped off of him and just pressed his back into the lower part of the couch.

Rick tore his eyes away from Stan's face, bringing his knees up close to his chest and rapidly typing the question into the tracker with his lips set in a line. He shouldn't have been waving around this thing like a toy, no matter how excited he was to use it. These questions could have some real emotional consequences, neither of them had any shortage of pain or mistakes from their pasts. 

_In how many dimensions did Stanley Pines break a perpetual motion machine?_

_Calculating..._

 

 

 

E̵̢̢̧̢͚̤̦̩͓̘̝̖̩̽͛̅̓̾Ŗ̸̟̪̫͛̾̓͂̀̈́̌́̔͊͘R̵̨̥̞͇͌̓͊̄̓Ǒ̴͓͍̫̞͖͙̪̦͕͕͈̺͖̯͉͇͍̰̐̃͂͆̐̔̎͑̀̔̿͋̇̾̾̀̇͛̒R̶̞͙̣̱̼͕͖̘̰̫͔̖̹̂̇͒̀̀̈́̄̈́̐͒̂͘͘͝

 

 

 

"What do you mean _Error_?" Rick hissed at the machine, bringing it up close to his face. "Come on, Tracker. I'm sorry Mirror's gone, but I'm the only Rick you've got now. _Please_ just work for me." He typed rapidly, rephrasing.

_In how many dimensions did a perpetual motion machine associated in some way with Stanley Pines not break?_

_≈55% "Stanford Pines" 1977ScienceFair WestCoastTechPerpetualMotionMachine FullFunctionality_

"About half," Rick finally reported, sinking a little lower to the floor. He didn't mean to make Stan so upset like this, and now he couldn't take it back.

He also understood why he had to give the machine such a high level of artificial intelligence with almost flawless inference: questions like this could be tricky for an objective computer to decipher any meaning from, but it seemed to be able to supply quite a bit of information on its own through perception. Rick felt a brush of empathy for the poor thing, it really _did_ feel the loss of Mirror, maybe even worse than he did. He had been his owner, after all.

" _About?_   Well, is it more or less?" Stan demanded, sitting up and trying to peer over his shoulder. Rick impulsively shoved it under his shirt to hide it and rapidly pressed to clear the screen, and Stan scowled at him. 

"Less." Rick put on the best poker face he could manage, and then parted his lips once again. Stan knew immediately what he was thinking about saying. 

Stan put up his hand, his eyebrows drawn down hard over his eyes. He sat up on the couch, back straight, his hands pressed over his knees in a very formal, stiff position. "I said not to ask." 

"Look, Stanley, I'm sorry that I--"

"Don't be." Stan interrupted him gruffly. "Half, then." 

"Yeah," Rick still kept the tracker hidden under his shirt. "Half."

"Huh." Stan's guard was up again, fully, like it was their very first time meeting each other all over again. His eyes were cold and expressionless, his muscles tensed and his stiff body language screamed _closed off_. "Is there a limit for how many questions you can ask this thing?" 

" _Uhhhh_...." Rick thought about lying again, but Stan already knew before he'd said another word. 

"I want to know. How many of me are like..... like this." Stan asked, his voice dipping down quietly.

"Stan, it's too early for this." Rick still pressed the thing up to his bare chest, he could feel how his body heat warmed up the plastic.

"It's the last one I'll ask for now. I just want to know." Stan reached for a cigarette that was half-burned and sitting in the ashtray, took the lighter off of the coffee table and lit up. "Ask it."

"Ask it what?" Rick feigned innocence. Of course he already knew. 

"How many are like me, how many... I don't know." Stan was growing even more upset, turning his face away from Rick. "How many are sexual duds like me." 

"It's not like that, Lee." Rick hesitated, but finally rested his hand on Stan's knee. Stan immediately got up at his touch, striding to his room instead. 

"Forget it." Stan huffed, leaving a trail of smoke in his wake. "Just fucking forget I asked."

"Stan..." Rick called weakly after him, but he'd already disappeared into his room.

Rick sucked in a breath, feeling how his cheeks grew warm from a blush he was struggling to repress. He was finally alone in the room. He tried to ignore the feeling and typed rapidly, hunching closer, secretively. Mirror wouldn't lie about seeing a spike, about the percent being close to 97, right? He just had to check.

_In how many of our dimensions with contact, are Ricks and Stanleys in a romantic relationship?_

Instead of answering right away, the display showed a thumping cartoon heart. 

"Shut your fucking...stupid... _knock_ it off." Rick covered the display with his a slap of his hand. 

"When I take my hand away it better be there." Rick threatened the tracker. "I know that you have a microphone, bitch. I know you can hear me." 

He did take away his hand, it said:

_≈97% "Stanley Pines" C 8H11NO2 \+ C10H12N2O + C43H66N12O12S2 MutualReactivity_

"Forget about the rounding," Rick whispered to it. "Give me, uh.... to the 6th digit." 

_=97.480912%_

Rick quickly pressed the exit button multiple times even though the statistic disappeared the first time. Rick climbed back onto and took Stan's previous spot on the couch, the cushions were still warm from his body heat. Rick tried to take a shallow nap on it, pressing his cheek up against the fabric, loving how hot Stan's temperature seemed to run.

 _97._ Damn, that percentage felt good.

A dozen more questions buzzed in a flurry to his mind, but instead of spend all day with a sad robot with a petulant AI, Rick just opened his mouth and yelled, still resting his eyes.

"Hey, Stan?" He hollered into the other room. He waited, drumming his fingers nervously. Stan wouldn't be _that_ mad about this, would he?

" _What?_ " 

"Wanna go to a bar?" Rick asked in a yell again. 

"Rick, I know you like to drink, but-- it's seven in the morning." Stan appeared at his doorway, their one shared towel tucked around his waist. He still puffed on his cig, nervously taking it in and out of his mouth, and ran his fingers through his hair and scrunched it up toward the back.

Rick didn't say anything else for a moment, just stared at Stan with one cheek smushed up against the couch cushion.

"I know you wanna get dr _uu-u_ nnk," Rick taunted, sing-song. 

"...After I shower 'n shave, then." Stan agreed, and moved away from the door. 

"Aw, _babe!_ " Rick nearly whooped.

 "Don't ' _babe_ ' me," Stan's gruff voice carried through the wall. 

Rick looked back at the tracker, which had turned itself off once again. He poked at a button, which did nothing. He jammed his finger harder into it. 

_I am tired..._

"Tough shit. You were built to do a job, now do it." Rick pulled up the calculator once again. "Look, I only have one more question for you, alright?" 

_What's zero divided by zero?_

Fans inside of the tracker flared to life, like the poor thing was sent to hyperventilation by the impossible calculation.

" _Eaaasy_ , there." Rick couldn't help but chuckle. "I don't actually need you to solve this for me. I'm testing your programming." 

After another second of whirring and a spatter of glitchy numbers that flew across the screen, the tracker emitted a low, continuous tone.

 

 

 

Ĕ̸̢̜̯̗̥̪̙͕̖̗̮̀̑̇̃̀̕R̷̡͙͖̭̮̩̦̱͖̰̼̻̩̞͉̜͔̰̹̲͚͚̎͛̅̏̋̐̔̽̚̚͝͝R̴̙̹͖͉̭̦͈̣̩͉̗̘͖̹͍̃͌̒̎̍͆͒̊͝Õ̴̧̺͔͓̠̯̬̤̹̦̘̣̙̱̦͈̓͒̂̇̿͑̃̓̀̀̾͌̑͗̆̿́̀̕̕̕̕͜͠Ŗ̶̢̡̛̲̞̞͚͈͖̹͓͙̲̗͉̪̘͍͇̬̯̲͕̳͙̲̤̭̀̍̈̅̽͆̎͒̔̀̎͘͘͝͝

 

 

 

Rick set it back on the coffee table, where it immediately shut off to a blank screen. 

"Interesting." Rick breathed, rubbing at his whiskery chin. "Hm."

*   *   *

Stan rubbed at his eyebrow, deep in thought, brown eyes flitting from side to side with his glass in one hand. Rick had finished telling him the entire story; over the hiss of rushing water, leaning on the counter while Stan shaved in their steamy bathroom, talking and sitting at the foot of Stan's bed with his ankles crossed as Stan got dressed, and he'd finally finished on their walk over.

When Stan did speak up he did so hesitantly, placing his glass down on the wooden bar top with a soft clink. They weren't the only ones in there, but it was clear every other man in the bar was, not so surprisingly, also alcoholics. 

"How well did you say you knew this Mirror guy?" Stan asked, swirling the last layer of his brown drink with easy flicks of his wrist.

"I met him, uh, once before. He was, _uhhhhmm_ , sort of the other me that I banged that one time?" Rick replied, then leaned in closer. He scowled, he had a pretty good idea of what Stan would suggest next. "Do you..."

"Yeah. I could see this being, I dunno, some kind of set up. Can't you?" Stan leaned in closer sideways to hush into his ear. "I wish I could have been there, gotten a read on him."

Rick chewed on the inside of his cheek in thought, then threw his head back and drowned his shot, Adam's apple bobbing.

"He, just, gives you all of his Council tech, no catch..." Stan ran his fingers through his hair at the crown of his head and rested his head with his elbow propped to the bar counter. "He lets you witness him die, tries to rope you into-- this complete  mess ... I mean, how can we know if this guy was for real?"

Rick drummed his fingers in anticipation as the bartender filled his shot up again, like she wasn't pouring nearly fast enough, and the second she'd taken the bottle away he tossed it back. 

This time, Rick leaned in closer to Stan, chin hovering over his shoulder. "There was... another you there." Rick admitted. "But I don't know if we should ask him about it."

"A-another me?" Stan sputtered, eyes flying wide, then he quickly tried to regain his composure, his jaw rippling as he bit down on his back molars. "Uh, yeah. Okay. Obviously."

Rick just chuckled and clapped him on the shoulder. "It's okay to be weirded out, you know. It  _ is _ weird."

Stan's lips tugged upwards in a shy smile. "Why don't we talk to him? And if anyone would know his tells, it would be me."

"I, uh." Rick cut himself short, hooked his fingers into his eyes and rubbed. "Kind of treated him like shit, last time I was there. See, I was the only Rick still there when he woke up from a stun, I kind of...fell asleep after tossing every cookie I had, and he-- wanted to know what happened, he was a fuckin' wreck, and I--"

"You used that knockout device on him?" Stan's eyebrow quirked upward.

Rick growled through his sigh and turned away. "You wouldn't have let me move my shit in without doing that to you, okay, and it all worked out, sooo...maybe you should actually be  _ thanking _ me."

Stan rolled his eyes, half-chuckling and raising his glass to his lips again. "Just saying. I can understand why you did it. Comforting him would have been a waste of your time and energy, he's not me, and you needed to get back here."

Rick side-eyed Stan, eyes flicking from midsection to face, trying to pick apart if Stan was trying to bait him or something. He seemed to be genuine.

"Glad you're on board the asshole train with me, then." Rick finally said. "I thought for a second you'd gone too soft-hearted."

Stan snorted. "Plus, you said time goes by faster there. He's probably done at least a little bit of recovering by now, right?"

Rick shook his head. "I don't--I think it would be a waste of time. One thing I really didn't like, it seemed like Mirror didn't tell him jack shit. He was confused all the way up to being stunned, as far as he knew Mirror'd just disappeared, he didn't know that they were planning his execution for months. When we were talking, he seemed like he'd been shut out before with "Rick stuff he wouldn't understand". We won't have any luck with him, I'm calling it now."

"What about Mirror's friend? Chewing Gum or something like that?"

"Bubblegum." Rick sighed, rubbing slowly at his forehead. "Maybe we could talk to him, you could try to get a read on him while I try to figure out just what the fuck is going on with all of this. I know they said he betrayed the council or something, but I don't know what they tried to pin on him. Or if he really did something, if all of this is fake."

Stan polished off the rest of his drink, but when he looked to Rick this time his expression was sad, especially his brown eyes. "I know I can help you, _somehow_ , you... won't do that with me, right Rick? Leave me out of everything that's going on? "

"No." Rick said softly, his hand smoothing over Stan's broad back and dipping lower to rest on the small of it. "I won't. I promise."

"Good. C'mon, let's get out of here." Stan slapped down a hundred dollar bill, and when Rick looked to it with more than a shocked expression, Stan just winked. The bartender looked equally surprised, shrugged, then wandered over to the register to get their change.

"Funny money, huh?" Rick whispered, grinning. Stan shrugged, smiling right back. He hooked his fingers around Rick's bicep, helping him slide down off of his stool. Both were buzzed enough to be getting a little too touchy and affectionate, and Stan just wanted to be alone with Rick again. He shoved all the change in his pocket, and Rick may have been exaggerating just how drunk he was as an excuse to lean up against Stan with his thick arm wrapped around his shoulders.

"Hey, getting paid about eighty bucks to get drunk, not bad." Stan ducked near his ear. "We should do this more often."

"Smarmy con man." Rick hissed affectionately at him.

"That's Mister smarmy con  _artist_ to you."Stan hissed right back, playfully knocking his shoulder against his.

It was funny the way that they both seemed to be thinking the same thing. The walk back was nearly torture, as all they really wanted to do was go home and make out and just touch for a little while. 

"We need a damn car." Stan grumbled, his only option for now was keeping his arm around Rick's shoulder, and their closeness still wound up getting a few glances their way from people who passed them. "I'm getting real sick and tired of walking all over the place." 

The second they got through the door, it went entirely unspoken. Stan slammed the door behind him and crowded Rick up against the kitchen wall by the phone, which fell off of the hook and fell to the floor with a plastic clatter and continued to very quietly tone. Stan pressed rushed, open-mouthed kisses to his neck with wet smacks, and pushed him hard enough in place that Rick hooked his ankles up behind Stan's back, one of his shoes tumbled off at the motion. Stan got two handfuls of his ass to hold him up, and Rick folded his arms around his shoulders and took a fistful of his hair. 

They moved along the wall until Rick was level with the kitchen bar's counter and leaned back onto that. Rick's nimble fingers quickly twisted apart his pants button and unzipped himself, and without a word Stan fisted two handfuls of the fabric resting over his outer thighs and yanked swiftly down. A flash of surprise went across his face: he hadn't realized Rick had gone commando. 

"Rick--shit, I'm sorry, the _zipper_ , did I--?" 

Rick just rested his forehead on Stan's shoulder and laughed, curling in toward him and squeezing onto either side of Stan's waist. 

"Heh. Okay, good." Stan chuckled, relieved. He pulled the very lightweight Rick closer by his hips, his ass slid along the shiny counter tiles and Stan buried his nose under his jaw and sucked a hickey hard into his neck, his calloused hand caressed up the back of Rick's bare thigh and settled near the crook of his knee, pressing their groins flush against one another. Rick's head tipped back at a drag of friction, he bit down on his lips and found himself white-knuckling the edge of the counter at Stan's barely-there rocking against him.

The rushed, distracted, wired energy from before had melted into something else, something careful and smooth and slow. Rick hummed softly, curling his hand over the side of Stan's face and over his ear, pulling his face sideways away from his throbbing neck, slick with warm wetness, and closer to his face. "C'mere, baby."

Rick slotted their lips together, loving the way Stan's contented sigh rushed out of his nostrils and puffed warm air onto his face. He still smelled good from his earlier shower, clean, floral, a hint of the sharpness of shaving cream. Stan tucked hair behind Rick's ear with two of his fingertips and then curled four fingers to rest around the back of his neck, and Rick rubbed the small of Stan's back in a slow circle, circling his thumbs around the two small back dimples that rested just above his pelvis.

Stan broke the kiss, but still pressed his face close to Rick's. His eyes were completely downcast, and so nearly closed it was hard to tell if they were or not. Stan's hand wandered up the front of Rick's bare leg, then dragged down along the curve, he rested it along Rick's soft inner thigh. 

"I wanna blow you." Stan whispered, his voice soft and borderline ashamed in a way that was almost bashful.

" _Hell_ yes." Rick was so incredibly turned on right now, he squirmed slightly at Stan's sliding touch up his inner thigh and closer to his groin. 

Stan dragged both hands down the lengths of Rick's thighs, resting them on his knobby knees. "I..." Stan's voice wavered. He looked nervous all over again, biting down on his lip out of habit. "I learned everything I know from blowing guys in prison for cigs." 

"Damn." Rick passed his lower lip through his teeth, looking at Stan with eager eyes. "Is it messed up if I think that's kinda hot?"

Stan grinned toothily at him, dragging his hands over his thighs and starting to kneel. His expression was mischievous. "Why do you think I said it?" 

Rick pushed his hand into his hair and let it rest on the downward curve on the back of Stan's skull, felt his breath catch as Stan began to kneel. Stan's knees hit the floor with soft thumps, one after the other, he shimmied Rick's pants even lower so they pooled near his ankles, and started peppering soft, open-mouthed kisses lower and lower under his navel, creating quiet smacks with each one.

"If you can make me come in under a minute, y-you can have a whole pack." Rick teased, but his voice wavered from the wet kisses to his thighs. 

"Very funny." Stan grumbled, before nipping down and sucking a hickey into the side of Rick's thigh, making him gasp.

Rick could feel Stan's breathing on his groin, Rick could barely take the anticipation. Stan buried his face between his legs and took the base into his grasp, he licked a slow, wet stripe up the length of Rick's cock. He then positioned his lips to the tip, almost like a kiss, and sucked him into his mouth, taking him in deep, almost too deep.

Rick let a filthy moan slide out of him and he tipped his head back, grinning, he tightened his grip on Stan's hair. His legs clenched up from the pleasure and he linked his ankles behind Stan's back, sliding his other hand down and pressed his fingers to Stan's cheek, he could feel the shape of himself through it. Stan slid his hands up Rick's bare thighs, digging his thick thumbs just above his hip. And when he pulled back to tongue at the head, his bottom teeth very lightly scraped up along the underside of Rick's cock.

" _Uhnn_ ," Rick grunted breathily at the brush of teeth and tugged at his hair, actually really  _into_ that spike of pain.

"Ahh, God." Rick breathed, arching his back at the pleasure as Stan began to bob with more consistency and dug one hard heel from the back of his shoe and one soft, sock-covered heel into Stan's back for leverage. He sputtered and moaned at the barely-there scape of teeth again. " _Shit_ , y-you're good."

Stan seemed to be concentrated on looking at what he was doing at first, but as he hollowed his cheeks and bobbed again, he met Rick's eyes this time. 

" _Fuuuuuck_ , babe." Rick groaned, his eyes snapping shut, his hands scrabbling before wrapping around and white-knuckling the edge of the countertop. He scraped up every ounce of restraint he had just so he wouldn't come right then and there, just at that look in Stan's warm brown eyes: mischief, thrill, the desperation to see Rick's pleasure. Entirely too much affection. 

Stan's hands spread apart his ass cheeks, one finger circled and pressed at his entrance, probed, and finally penetrated in with a slow, burning push.

Rick threw his head back and knew he wasn't going to last much longer, he shuddered and let out a soft whine as the finger sank further inside of him in tandem with a slow, warm upwards suck.  

Yeah, he could really get used to this, Rick thought as he lay back against the counter, spread eagle, panting, with his black pants still bunched up at his ankles.

" _God_ , that was nice." Rick huffed, chuckling and catching his breath. He stared up at the lazily spinning ceiling fan upside-down, then shut his eyes when it made him slightly dizzy. He hadn't orgasmed from a blowjob that fast in a _very_ long time.

Stan hunched over the sink and spat everything out, stuck his head under the stream of water and slurped, swishing, then spitting, going through a few cycles of rinsing with tap water, then sudsing up his hands.

Rick hoisted his pants back up and zipped up, sauntering into the kitchen.

"No one ever said it was gonna taste like candy." Rick teased him, slipping his hands along his waist and pressed his open palms to his chest, pressing himself up against Stan's back and hugging him softly from behind, burying his face in his very mussed hair. 

"Sorry. Old habits." Stan snorted, rinsing off his hands and shutting off the kitchen faucet with a squeal. "I'd never swallow when I did this in prison. Unless they gave me extra for it."

Rick just laugh-hummed, pressing kisses onto his neck and upper shoulders. "Such a businessman." 

"Only the best." Stan retorted.

"Sorry if I..." Stan began, smiling shyly and scrubbing at his hair on the back of his head. "One guy was a real masochist, he liked it to be toothy, I just got so used to doing it that way that I-"

"Felt great," Rick chuckled, pressed a kiss to the cloth of Stan's tee shirt, afterglowy and doing his usual schoompy post-orgasm thing, without meaning to he realized he was swaying slightly. "What if I told you that I _liked_ that part?"

A glorious red blush erupted on Stan's face when he turned to Rick, and Rick couldn't help but laugh.

"You're joking," Stan self-consciously hid his reddened cheeks under his hands. " _Please_ tell me you're joking."

"C'mon cockbiter, let's get high." Rick pulled away and tugged at Stan's elbow, leading him to the couch, and Stan followed after him with a chuckle.

Stan sat with his elbow bent, with his hand over his jaw and propping up his head, watching Rick sit at the edge of his cushion with his spindly long legs in front of him and his knees bent, how he picked apart a nug of weed with his nimble fingers, Stan just watched quietly as Rick turned over the the pipe and blew out the ashes, as he pinched and placed the green into the bowl. Rick finally turned to him, screwing up his face. 

"What?" He demanded, wrinkling up his nose. 

"Just enjoying the view," Stan said quietly.

Rick scoffed in embarrassment. " _Sh-shut_ your--shut up." He stammered and brought the pipe up to his lips and lit the bowl with a flick of his lighter. He climbed into Stan's lap and balanced on his knees, tilted Stan's face up with his fingers under his chin and pressed his lips to his, slowly exhaling the smoke into Stan's mouth. 

Stan breathed it in deep, eyes half-lidded, folding his arms around Rick's thin frame. Stan blew the smoke back out through his nostrils, a soft smile stretched to his lips when he looked up to Rick again. 

"Don't...  _look_ at me like that," Rick whispered, sinking down to sit in his lap.

"Why not?" Stan shot back cheekily. "I'll look at you however I want to." 

"Just... hit this." Rick pressed the end of the pipe to Stan's lips, and flicked on the zippo lighter. Stan breathed in hard enough for the burning weed to crackle softly, and this time Stan was the one to draw Rick's face closer by the chin and breathe out into his mouth. Rick kissed him back, leaning further into his lap and wrapping his arms around him.

Rick wondered how many Stans were sharing this same kiss with him across dimensions. Stan's hand slid along Rick's waist, slipped under his shirt and rubbed up his bare back. Rick tangled his fingers in Stan's overgrown hair and pulled his face in closer. It didn't matter, those other percents, because this was _his_ dimension now, this Stan--

" _Mine_ ," Rick accidentally whispered aloud. At that, Stan swallowed back an enthusiastic moan and wrapped Rick up into his arms, nearly tackling him back into the couch cushions and pressing up against him, pinning him down, kissing with abandon as Rick found himself chucking giddily. 

He never wanted this to end.

*   *   *

"You've been smoking all night. You're going to get one hell of a raspy voice if you keep this up." Rick demonstrated by passing his hand through the air that was thick with smokey haze. An impressive and way-too-obvious pink bloom of suctioned skin adorned the side of his neck. "I mean, this is a little excessive. And that's coming from _me_ \--"

Stan scoffed and huffed out twin plumes from his nostrils, finally mashing out the cigarette in the nearly full ashtray. "What can I say, I'm pretty fuckin' nervous here. What if Bubblegum isn't on your side? What if this all goes south?"

"It gonna be _fiiine_." Rick crouched next to where he hunched over the couch and kneaded at his tense neck muscles. "Trust me, if shit does go south, it'd be me he's after, not you."

"Not. Helping." Stan hissed through gritted teeth.

"Geez. So-rry." Rick backed away, palms up and feigning innocence. Rick's Tracker let out a soft peep from a pocket in his labcoat, and Rick fished it out.

"Okay, he's on his way. Damn, Stanley, you couldn't crack a window in here when you decided to do your chimney impersonation?" Rick waved at the air again.

"I  _ did_," Stan growled in his defense, just as a green portal stretched into the room by the windowside bed. By the time it winked away, Bubblegum Rick sulked with a hunched posture on Rick's bed with his legs hanging off the side. His purpled eyes flicked from Stan to Rick, then he tipped back his flask.

"Well, you look like shit." Rick finally spoke up after an awkward couple of seconds where none of them knew what to do or say.

"Wuh-woow! Thaaanks, that's what I love to _hear!_ " Bubblegum's voice was lethally sarcastic. His dead gaze bored holes into Stan, and he chewed on his thumbnail. "Gr- _aayurppp_ -great hickey, so classy. Fuck's he doing here?"

"He lives here. He's sitting in on this." Rick shot back, and Bubblegum rolled his eyes.

"Mi-Mirror's Stan never did." Bubblegum finally did stand up, hobbling drunkenly over to the two of them, running the tips of two fingers over his bottom lip, back and forth like he was applying chapstick.

"Yeah, and I'm not Mirror." Rick crossed his arms, clearly not going to let up. "But I did want to ask you about him."

Bubblegum shrugged, continuing to pace and circle the two of them, unsteady on his feet, like an emaciated jungle cat at some unregulated zoo. "What about 'im?" He hooked his pinky into the edge of his mouth, gnawing down on the nail.

"I want to hear it from you, why the Council executed him." Rick asked, following Bubblegum's motions with his head as he crossed his arms. "They said he betrayed the Council, when they--they--ki--."

"I thought he told you everything already," Bubblegum snipped. "He said he was gonna get y-you over to his dimension somehow, tell you everything, defend his dumbass choice to paint a target on his back by getting healthy, hand his tech down--"

"Why did he make me see that?" Rick interrupted. "Why did he want me to see him die like that?"

Bubblegum slowly shook his head back and forth. "- _Didn't_." Bubblegum's voice was hoarse all of the sudden, when he talked any softer than at a normal volume. He kept rubbing at his lips, nibbling on his nails, and running his tongue over his mouth.

"You've got one hell of an oral fixation there, Bubblegum." Rick quipped, nearly smirking.

" _Y-yeah_ , but 'Oral Fixation Rick' just doesn't have the same _ring_ to it, does it?" Bubblegum spat back.

"Look, how many Ricks are trying to rebel against this Council?" Rick blurted, and Stan bit his cheek to avoid rolling his eyes.

"Geez, you just want to get str-straight to it then, huh? No foreplay, no dinner first? Fine." Bubblegum finally stopped pacing and pushed aside the ashtray to sit on the coffee table, facing the two of them.

"It's just the beginning." Bubblegum explained. "Mirror-- we didn't know if it was true. Just for getting healthy. Everything's hush-hush, no one spreads this kind of thing. Top secret shit."He sighed, and captured the flask between his lips once again. "Now we know."

"There must have been some better way to prove it," Stan finally cleared his throat and spoke up.

Bubblegum shrugged, nipping down on the nail on his middle finger with his canine. His fingers trembled ever-so-slightly. "Mirror made his choice. It was how he wanted to live out his last days. Didn't do shit to the Council, by the way-- they just said he did. Believe me, or don't. I don't care."

"So, now what?" Rick demanded. "You think getting all this tech is going to sweeten the pot, so now you want my help with this little rebellion?"

Bubblegum shrugged yet again. It seemed to be his answer to everything. "Luh-look, Brown-Hair. Mirror is-- _was_. My best friend,but I don't know what the fuck he wanted you to do with his stuff." Bubblegum stood up again, outstretched his arm and tossed up another portal.

"So, do whatever you want." He sighed, resigned, his voice flat and uncaring. "That's the Rick thing to do, right? Now, I have to get to the bottom of several bottles." He stepped through the gooey portal, walking backwards, his eyes looking even more purpled in the dim light of the portal, arms out and elbows bent in his most exaggerated shrug yet. "And next time we chat, it _better_ be about something important, Brown. This is the last fucking time you bother me while I'm grieving."

The portal closed, both Stan and Rick staring quizzically at it. They met each other's eyes, not quite sure who was going to speak up first.

"There's a Rick from a dimension called Sad-As-Shit Rick." Rick finally began. "Right now, this guy's kind of coming in a close second."

"That was--wow. He was pretty fucked up." Stan said, cupping his hand over a fresh cig and sparking up with a scrape of flint. "He really---yeah. He's probably going to be on a nonstop bender for, like, two months."

"What was your read on him?" Rick asked, sliding right next to him on the couch so that their outer thighs pressed up together, and he leaned over and tried to pluck the cigarette out from between Stan's fingers.

" _Ah-ah!_ No, get your own." Stan grumbled, twisting and shielding it, then taking in another very long pull. "He was telling the truth, I'm pretty sure. He seemed nervous, but not because he was lying to us. He looked like a fuckin' husk, Rick. Not really something I've seen successfully faked."

"So, they really are picking off the Ricks that get too healthy. Ones that they see as threats, for no reason." Rick leaned back and let the couch swallow him, spreading his arms wide along the back.

"Honestly? Yeah, looks like."

"Fuck," Rick crumpled up his brow, his chin sticking up toward the sky as he rested his head onto the back of the couch with a soft thump. "Only two percent of us are actually at normal weight. Shit, I don't know what to do about this."

"Nothing, for now." Stan suggested, curling a hand around his knee. "You heard him. No one's pressuring you to join, fight, whatever. Mirror knew he was going to get offed, so he gave you his stuff. I kind of think that's all there is to it, for now at least."

"I don't really--how am I supposed to feel about all these Ricks getting killed for no reason? Ones that are like me, compatible and all that--" Rick suddenly shot up, realization shooting through him like a bolt.

"The pains." Rick murmured, flipping over and dumping the entire pack onto the coffee table. The football waddled, rolling off the side and thumping to the floor. Rick dug and shifted through it all, finally plucking a very large pill bottle from the pile.

On the label was some winky Rick in an almost-candy striper uniform making finger guns. The label read out in all capital letters, monster-green "COUNCIL ANTI-GROWING PAIN PILLS". Rick popped the cap and shook a couple of the oblong pills into his palm, they were the same deep green as the letters on the label.

"The headaches are from our interactions." Rick said, curling his fingers around the cluster of pills. "We created the portal gun when we were twenty two, around your age. But we didn't have as much interaction until this stupid, shitty _club_.... it's not natural for so many alternate selves to do this, meeting once in a while is one thing, but forming fucking _councils--_ " 

Stan scowled, taking the pill bottle and shaking it with a rattle. "Well? Are you going to actually take them?"

Rick stared almost longingly at the bottle in Stan's hand, his expression so full of want it was nearly pained. "I've been popping pain meds like breath mints recently, you knew that. They're starting to not work so well. I...It's hard to think straight because of that, God, these headaches fucking  **hurt** ."

"What are you going to do when you need a refill, then, huh? And how can you know there's not something else in these, something that could give the Council a leg up on you--I don't know, Rick. I don't think it's a good idea." Stan offered the bottle with an opened cap, and Rick reluctantly let the pills in his palm fall back into the bottle.

"I can deconstruct this in my Lab, see that they haven't snuck something weird in it. Then, I can duplicate it for refills." Rick took the bottle back from Stan, who only let go of it reluctantly. Stan looked at him glumly, knowing him too well for that. 

"Don't be impulsive with this, Rick." He warned. "I know it would be tempting just to swallow a few of those when it gets bad. You probably should make sure they're safe first."

"Fine." Rick slipped them back into the pack, avoiding Stan's eyes. Even with his back turned, he could feel Stan's eyes boring into him. "I said I would, okay?! So that's that."

"Okay." Stan mumbled quietly, helping Rick stuff the rest of papers and manuals and strange little trinkets back into the pack. 

"What's this?" Stan asked, holding up with appeared to be a normal black bobby pin.

"It's the tiniest defibrillator in the world." Rick said without missing a beat, shoving a few papers into the pack with a loud rustle.

"Oh? Uh, cool. How does that even work?" Stan brought the pin up closer to his face, squinting. 

"I'm _kidding_ , Brawny." Rick snatched the bobby pin away from him and slid into his lap again, sliding it flirtily into his hair just above his ear with a grin. "It's just my bobby pin that fell to the floor. Gullible. You look nice with your hair out of your face, though."

"I told you to stop pulling that shit!" Stan chuckled, wrapping his other hand around Rick's hip. 

"I don't know how Mirror could have pushed you out." Rick said softly, slipping his fingers into the gaps in Stan's. "I'm... glad I don't have to go through this alone."

Rushed kisses and hickeys were fun, and even though Rick would be hard-pressed to admit it, a tight hug like this one might have been even better.

*   *   *

Stan was used to thumps in the middle of the night ever since Rick moved in, but they say when someone really knows you, they can tell if it's you just by your footsteps. 

Maybe he was paranoid, he had every right to be. But on the other hand, he was pretty sure he heard at least three sets of footsteps in the living room, and he knew that none of them were Rick's. He curled his fingers around the hilt of his steel bat behind his bed, creeping very quietly to the door. Rick had disappeared to go to band practice again, Stan had no idea if he was back yet or not.

"Is this--?"

"No, that's not him. But do we restrain him?" 

"Nah, he's too drunk. He couldn't do shit."

Stan heard two unfamiliar male voices through the wall, and it one of the only times he was grateful to have such thin walls. So, Rick must have been back and in his own bed. Stan felt fear seize him, and he strangled the hilt of the bat, tiptoeing quietly in the dark. 

Before Stan could open his door, it was flung open, and three men a lot bigger and taller than him wearing black ski masks who were _definitely not Rick_ poured into his room. 

Without even leaving room to think, Stan swung his bat hard and it hit one of the men's arms with a loud thwack. 

" _ **Rick**!_ " Stan yelped, swinging like a mad man, but they had weapons too. They'd backed Stan up into a corner in his room, and even though he got a couple good hits in, the fact of the matter was it was three against one. 

Stan found himself pinned onto his stomach, thrashing hard and rugburning his skin, but unable to get up. " _Riiick!_ " He screamed desperately, twisting and kicking as hard as he could, but he knew chloroform when he smelled it.

The three of them were efficient, working quietly, dragging Stan's body quickly through his room with only the quiet shush of him rubbing against the carpet, out into the living room and out the door, where they had another man with a stretcher waiting, one with a zip up the front like they were removing a dead body. 

"Le-let 'im g--uhh, _drop_ \--."  The three of their covered faces looked briefly up to Rick, standing naked in front of his bed, swaying drunkenly on his feet and holding his unsteady blaster with two hands. "Y-Y'knowwhat, fuccit." 

Rick caught the last one out with his beam, and he instantly exploded and painted red over the front half of the living room. Rick knew he'd waste precious time needing to clean up this mess- he'd have to do a redesign too, the blaster should incinerate, not paint the walls with evidence.

" **Fuck!** " Rick's hands were shaking almost too hard to mess with the settings on his evaporation pen, but he finally armed it and threw it like a grenade, it detonated and stripped the walls of the blood and just left the room steaming. Without another second to lose, Rick sprinted out after them, naked and speckled in blood. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter... how Stan acquired his Stanmobile!


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The heart wants what it wants: to stay inside of its own body, mostly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings: bone injury, breach of medical consent, and a spotlight on asexuality/sexual repulsion
> 
> I'm finally moving back to writing in a Stan-centric way, after a few chapters from Rick's point of view it feels nice to come back to Stan, haha. His thoughts are loud in this one. (Also, I know it's not a super common headcanon for him, but I personally really, really like asexual Stan)
> 
> Hopefully you like this chap!

Stan woke up in the back of a trunk with a pair of handcuffs on. 

Unfortunately, this wasn't the first time his had happened to him. 

He knew he had to stay calm. He could figure out his way out of this, just like he had before. He tried to control his hitched breathing, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to ground himself with sensations instead of the dam of frantic thoughts just waiting to burst through. He felt scratchy carpet underneath his pinned arm, felt the rumble of the engine at this close of proximity, smelled the thick wafting of burning petroleum and his own body odor. He went over a bump in the road and knocked his head on the top of the trunk.

"Oof." He mumbled to himself, really wishing his hands were free so he could rub at it. He tried to take a look around, but it was too dark to see much of anything. He could make out shapes of small whitish boxes at his feet, but that seemed to be all that was in the trunk with him.

 _Rick can handle this,_ Stan found himself thinking. There had to be some way that he'd be able to track him down, maybe he could pinpoint his brainwave pattern or something. For now, Stan wanted to just figure some way to get out of his cuffs. His breathing felt too loud in this little space, and he struggled not to give into paranoid, claustrophobic thoughts.

He'd gotten out of handcuffs dozens of times, he was a whiz at picking locks, and his slight of hand was so subtle he'd never been caught pickpocketing even once. He wanted people to think it was because of a wild lifestyle, but the truth was he'd wanted to be a magician at maybe 7 or 8 years old. He'd been absolutely obsessed back then: the badass capes and getups that made a guy look slick and mysterious, slight of hands, pulling coins out from behind people's ears, smoke bombs, card tricks, everything. He remembered memorizing his whole monologue, he'd recite it in his head before he went to sleep. He couldn't remember all of it now, just the opener.

_Ladies and gentlemen!_

_Boys and Girls!_

_Prepare to be baffled, bamboozled, and have your brains go all twister-y!_

_It's the incredible, phenomenal, Magic Mister Mystery!_

His parents had finally caved and bought him a cheap magician's starter kit for his birthday, one with a bouquet of feather flowers that fell apart after using them twice, a grand total of three handkerchiefs in primary colors: red, yellow, and blue, plastic cups and a small yellow ball to hide underneath, a pack of cards. The cape was his second favorite part, even though it made him itchy the whole time he wore it and the material gave him a little bit of a rash. The long black wand with the white tip actually looked pretty official, and it was his favorite item from the whole crappy kit. Stan had tried to polish it with vegetable oil just so it would look shiny and official, but he realized that was a mistake after his hands got so slippery and oily that he'd keep dropping it, and his whole kit smelled like a dirty frying pan after that.

Stan surprised himself by looking up at the bottom of the trunk a few inches above his head and he let a strange laughter bubble up out of him. 

Those days felt so far away now, like another life.

And now he was handcuffed in the back of a hot trunk, abducted out of his apartment in the middle of the night, and he still had no idea who had done it. Unfortunately, there were at least four people he could think of from his past that he owed exorbitant amounts of money, so that didn't really narrow it down too much. And what, exactly, where they trying to do to him? Where the hell were they taking him?

First things first. Right. _Handcuffs._

This is where he needed to get resourceful. He twisted over to lay on his side and let his hands run over the scratchy carpeting, feeling around and groping in the dark in his limited range. His fingers ran over something, and Stan stiffened. He pinched it and picked it up, he had to stifle an excited whoop. 

Rick was a _God_. 

He practically came out of the womb knowing how to pick a pair of handcuffs with a bobby pin. Even in the pitch dark, his fingers were deft with muscle memory as he bent the metal to a sharp 90 degree angle, and then bent it once again, and he stripped off the plastic tip easily enough with his nails, but it would have been a lot easier if he could have reached his teeth. He fumbled just a little bit, but pushed it inside and pressed in the direction he knew would work. 

_ Come on, come on.... _

Oh, that sound. That sweet, sweet click. Stan let his head fall back and he breathed out his pent-up tension in a sigh, grinning, pulling off the cuffs and letting them clunk to the floor beside him. Now, for a little air and light in here. It was getting stuffy.

He let his fingers explore, running along and searching for seams in the panels. He found some purchase in a slightly lifted corner above his head and began to pull, gritting his teeth at the uncomfortable tug at his fingernails. He felt a cluster of wires covered in their plastic coating, and he clenched his fist around the bunch and ripped as hard as he could. The brake light should have gone out, and now for the fun part. 

Stan wriggled and took a lot more time than he thought to flip around, but he finally had a clear shot. With a few well-placed kicks, the back light tumbled away into the road and a chink of white daylight made Stan's pupils dilate so quickly he could feel a rush of pain. Stan felt like a goddamn _badass_ , and this was, in a twisted way, kind of... _fun_. Thrilling, at least.

The metal boxes were near his head now that he'd flipped around, and with the small patch of light from the missing brake light, he could now see what they were for. 

They were a clean white, with silver metal corners and matching clasps, and a handle on top. In blood red, all-capital letters on the front of it said: 

HUMAN ORGAN  
FOR TRANSPLANT

Stan's blood ran cold, and he couldn't tell if he'd started shaking, or if it was just the constant puttering of the engine right underneath him. At first, he thought that if he undid the clasps and opened up the containers, maybe he'd find something like a bloody heart or a pair of lungs. 

Then, he realized. Of course they were empty. 

They were meant for him.

He bit down hard on his tongue, hard enough to taste iron, so that he wouldn't scream. This wasn't fun anymore. He was getting out of here _now_.

He played this game with himself more often than he'd like to admit. Make your thoughts simpler, and then even simpler still. Make them singular words, if possible, cut everything out: and whatever you do, don't let the shock give way into panic. Just exist in between the two, in the numb place where you can actually get shit done.

He found the spare tire easily enough, and the device that could lift the car from the ground. 

_ Car Jack. _

_ Clamp.  _

_Pump. _

Stan still didn't feel anything when the back finally gave way and popped open with a metallic squeal of protest, cutting a white line through the darkness under his fingertips. He sucked in a breath and let it hiss out of him, prepping himself for the road speeding by.

He could already see the yellow divider lines strobing in and out of view from the small horizontal opening. He knew how he'd have to fall, tucking in and rolling. They were going slow enough for it to work. The last time he did this he nearly broke a rib, and the road rash had scraped away large swatches of skin. But it _had_ worked. And he wasn't about to wait around for his body to be sliced open.

He threw open the trunk, he was met by a blast of sunlight and whipping wind: they were on an empty two-lane road with tall pines stretching up far overhead on both sides. He felt the car immediately swerve, the driver slamming on the brakes, pulling him out of the car and completely threw off his form. He knew as soon as he fell out that it was all wrong, his bodily instinct was to right itself, to land on his feet--

The red car with a white hood swung into the middle of the street with a screeching of tires, and Stan heard the whump of a car door slamming shut. 

It didn't hurt at first. Maybe it was the shock, but Stan could see the misalignment in his leg. He clutched at it and still tried to rise to his feet, and cried out brokenly. He could feel the way his upper bone swung freely inside of his leg, the rest of his leg staying in place. 

"Shitshit _shit_!" Stan fired off a series of hisses, his wide eyes rolling as he looked up to see the two who had kidnapped him rushing toward him. He scampered backwards on the road, feeling the grits of the pavement digging into the rawness in his palms from scraped-away skin. This wasn't kiddie shit anymore. This wasn't picking handcuffs in ten seconds with a bobby pin, this wasn't kicking out the brake light. He had a broken leg. This was for real. How was he going to get out of this one? How could he possibly figure his way out of this?

One of them was new. The other, a tanned Polynesian-looking guy named Lono who he'd worked closely with a terrifying drug lord back in '78, and he'd run away and bailed when things got bad, but he still owed him probably in the ballpark of $80k. 

$80k that they were planning on cutting out of his body.

_ I'm going to die. _

His heart hammered, like it knew. He still tried to get to his feet, stubbornly trying to convince himself that the fresh pumping of adrenaline would somehow kick in and get rid of the pain, that he could still outrun them and escape. He couldn't even successfully get to his feet, and he was forced to fall back onto the yellow line in the middle of the road with a groan of pain.

The feeling of being mortified wrapped around him like an old, unwelcome friend. 

"Look, I can get you the money." He pleaded from the ground, he knew he'd gone white in the face. He clutched at his leg, it throbbed with a deep ache and he could barely concentrate on anything else. 

The scuffle was pathetic. He'd tried to kick out and trip one of the guys, but he couldn't move fast enough. Stan missed a clear shot for a punch to the sternum and hit a shoulder with no effect, and before he could try anything else they had a boot pressed to his back and had his arms twisted behind his back. 

"Nononono-" Stan felt little grits from the pavement imbed into his cheek, and the two just hoisted him up off of the road and dragged him back to the car with the yawning open trunk. Stan tried to wriggle and kick.

"No kicking," Lono said, a sinister smirk spreading on his face. Stan  threw his head back and screamed when Lono pressed him thumb over the break.

"At least he didn't damage any of the _goods_." The other man said, a burly white guy with a close-shaved head of dusty brown hair and a smile like he was always desperately sniffing out any kind of approval. 

" _RIIIICK!_ " Stan screamed to the stretch of pines overhead desperately, and when the name left his lips he felt his tear ducts prickle in an unexpected rush.  All he wanted to see right now was Rick's face, and just the sheer desperation of the wish twisted his insides. His presence had been so constant in Stan's life lately, that he almost felt like an extension of himself. Even if he wasn't playing a part in them, Rick was in every one of his dreams, right by Stan's side. He felt utterly, crushingly, alone.

He was slammed back into the dark of the trunk. The two had laughed when Lono had sarcastically asked if he should bother with the handcuffs. _He's not going anywhere now_ , the other one had replied. Stan curled up into himself, his brain not wanting to do much else but think about the pain radiating from his leg. 

_Pain?_

He'd been in pain like this not so long ago. A kitchen knife smeared with hot sauce. Something about pain like that boosting his brain waves, making them strong enough to serve as a mask for Rick. His pain was boosting his brain waves now, he just knew it. They had to be, Rick _had_ to be tracking him somehow. He just had to keep them broadcasting loud and clear.

Stan curled up and closed his eyes, rolling and bumping along with every turn, trying to ignore the puttering constantly jostling him.

He thought about Rick.

His weird hair, swooping up in the back like that. He missed when it had been brown, more than he'd like to admit. He certain ways he twisted his jewelry, the rings on his fingers, the way he rubbed at the pendant on his necklace like a worry stone. How his chest felt pressed up to his back, the gentle tracing of his fingertips on his pecs, the playful teasing at his nipples and stroking at his chest hair when they both lay half-asleep together. When he'd looked down during their frequent walks and how he'd noticed the way they stepped together in perfect sync. That secure and gentle way he'd clasped his hands, fingers interwoven, when he guided him through an unfamiliar orgasm. The distinct smell that would waft out, the signature sloshing of his flask tipped back. 

 _His eyes,_ he thought. Yeah. That would have to be the one. 

Stan pressed his hand against the break, gingerly at first, and then pressed down forcefully, trying his best to ride through the excruciating pain on a memory of a pair of familiar eyes. 

He let go, huffing, gritting his teeth and pressing his forehead down hard against the scratchiness of the trunk, smushing his nose. He wasn't going to cry. He _wasn't_. It just felt like, for a moment there, his past could be exactly that. He'd been so caught up in the whirlwind of Rick's problems: huge millipede aliens that possessed humans into its hivemind, millions of alternate selves forming councils and killing each other, mismatched universes and off-planet drugs, it was like he'd forgotten all the normal, Earthly crimes he'd done. How many people wanted him dead, or worse. 

When he thought he could make it as a magician, he'd forced his family to sit down after dinner and watch one of his shows in the living room. This was, also, just after he'd finished greasing up his wand and he dropped it about five times. His dad wasn't even watching, he just read the evening news the whole time. His mom smoked and stared into the middle distance, too, but at least she'd done a few half-hearted claps at the end of it, bangles jingling faintly and ash fluttered off of the cigarette at one of the claps.

Ford had given him a standing ovation.

Stan pressed his face harder onto the flat surface, his face contorting around a grimace. Tears burned and forced themselves out of his eyes, and his hiccup-sob sounded pathetic in his ears. The pain was making him sensitive like this. That had to be it.

God, he missed Ford. 

He missed his mom and dad, even though at first he tried to convince himself he never, ever would. He missed his baby brother. Would his brother even remember him? Recognize him? Would _he_ even recognize Shermy, if he saw him? He was so young, he'd probably grown so much since he'd been kicked out. He spent so much time on his own, he sometimes forgot he even had a family.

He should have said something on the phone. He should have told Ford he was sorry. He should have told him he would come to Oregon with him. Now, he was probably going to die and Ford would have no idea how. Maybe he'd still even send him birthday cards even though he was gone.

 _Cellabration,_ Stan remembered the front of the card. He imagined Ford seeing it in some store and buying it for him. Taking it home and meticulously painting the ciphers in invisible ink. Looking for some of Stan's telltale pseudonyms under phonebooks from multiple states. Licking a stamp. Dropping it off at the post office. Fuck, if that didn't prove that Ford forgave him somewhere deep down-

If he got out of this alive, he was going to pick up the phone, dial those numbers, and tell his brother everything.

Right now, that seemed like a big, fat "if". 

*   *   *

It felt like it had been days that Stan had been in the back of this trunk, and as soon as he surfaced back to consciousness by the noisy squeal of the trunk opening and the flood of fresh air, the first thing to make itself known was the pulsing ache in his leg. His pinched-together eyelids squinted at whoever had opened it, he saw two pairs of almost identical heads of tousled hair. 

" _Stanley._ " Rick's voice. Stan could barely react as he felt the familiar pair of boney hands cradle his face. His eyes fluttered closed, and he felt something hard pressing to the seam of his lips, a flask. "Drink, it's water. Just water."

Stan suckled it all down, not realizing how thirsty he was. How long _had_ he been in this trunk, exactly? His muscles ached. He couldn't find the energy to flinch away as he heard snipping and felt the cold brush of metal along his leg, as the other Rick (he couldn't tell which one) cut him out of his disgusting sweatpants. He could barely even open his eyes. 

"Let's get him into the car, BG, come on." Rick muttered, Stan felt the cloth fall away from him and the two Ricks somehow dragged his dead weight into the back seat. Rick sat with him and Bubblegum started the ignition, Rick let Stan rest his head in his lap and he stroked his cheek. Now that Stan was out of the filthy trunk, he could smell the iron reek of blood on Rick. 

"You killed them?" Stan croaked. 

"Yeah." Rick stroked his cheek again, dragged his fingertips back along the crown of his head and slipped his fingers into his dampened and greasy curls. "A-All of them. The whole cartel." 

Stan felt so relieved that his consciousness slipped down back into sleep involuntarily. He woke with a start to the rumbling engine, his heart in his throat for a second when it almost seemed like he was locked back in the trunk again. 

"Theyerrgonna-" Stan gasped, surfacing out from the thickness of his unexpected nap. He couldn't find it in him to say it. 

"What, Stan?" Rick asked him softly, stroking his back. 

"They were gonna sell my organs." Stan whispered, a shudder running through his body.  

"It's gonna be a little hard for them to do that wh-when they're all dead." Rick replied coldly, without missing a beat. In the yellow light of a passing streetlamp, Stan could see the dried and crusted blood smattered on Rick's face. His facial expression was completely neutral, cold, and gave nothing away. Rick was terrifying, and so, so wonderful.

Stan could vaguely remember being carried again, and the next thing he knew he was sprawled out in the tub with a spray of cold water hitting his face. He sputtered and sucked in a breath, everything was so _bright_. His head swam and the back of his skull knocked to rest on the lip of the tub, he gasped and coughed water out of his throat. Wet cloth pressed to his face, over his nose and mouth, and he wheezed in a breath after his sopping shirt was removed and thrown with a wet splat into the tiled corner, and the warm water level raised all around him. 

Rick cupped his hands in the water and scrubbed away at the dried blood on his face, then he picked up his long legs and gingerly stepped into the bath with Stan, all of his clothes already halfway soaked. Stan vaguely thought about how odd it looked to have someone step into a bath with pants on.

The only sounds were his quiet splashes as he crouched over Stan, the soft cough of a bottle low on shampoo squeezed into his hands. Rick massaged his fingers into his hair and worked up a sudsy lather, he began to spread and smear the white bubbles down the base of his neck, across his shoulders, down his chest and stomach. Stan closed his eyes and just breathed in the floral smell, his mouth stretching into a soft smile as he just focused on Rick's gentle touch.

He was just happy to be _alive_. 

"How did you find me?" Stan's voice was hoarse, a contributing factor could have been all the chain-smoking he'd done earlier. Rick continued to rub, cleaning every inch, crouching with his soaked pants into Stan's naked lap.

"I put a tracker in you when you were under, when I took out Stan Junior." Rick admitted, dipping lower and rubbing in circles over Stan's stomach. It was very clear no apology was going to be tacked onto the end of that sentence. 

"Oh." Stan realized all that aggravating the break for hours was for nothing, and felt like an idiot for making it worse. "I thought that the pain might help you find me. Y'know, with the whole brainwave thing."

"Did you--" Rick stopped cleaning him for a second. He looked horrified. "On-on _purpose_...?" 

" _No_." Stan shook his head back and forth, he felt shampoo bubbles slip down his scalp at the action. "It just happened when I jumped out." 

"Okay." Rick breathed a sigh of relief. "Good." He rinsed Stan off with a cracked plastic cup and picked his way out of the tub, and finally knelt down to inspect Stan's broken leg, which hung out over the side of the tub. Rick gently took the hairy leg into his hands and Stan inhaled sharply. 

"Is it bad?" Stan asked meekly. 

"If I was a normal guy, I'd take you to the hospital. But one, we have no money." Rick said, then met Stan's eyes. "And two, I can do a better job than they ever would." 

Stan knew what was coming next. He gritted his teeth. "You're gonna have to set it, aren't you?" 

Rick let go of the leg and frowned. He rattled out a sigh, then grabbed their towel and began to dry Stan's hair, kneeling behind him. "I never should have let this happen to you."

"Aw, c'mon. Crazy guys I owe money kidnapping me and trying to steal my kidneys has nothing to do with _you_." Stan could have laughed. 

"I saw that car." Rick said, taking the towel away and hanging it back up. Stan was too embarrassed to ask if he could rub him down for a little longer, it especially felt good on his ears. "The red Cadillac DeVille. It was hanging around the neighborhood, enough times to be weird, I should've--"

"Should've _nothing_." Stan cut him off. "Yeah, I got one hell of an ugly past. Hasn't reared its head in a while, so I got sloppy. So, just--set my leg already, and I don't want to hear it."

Rick concentrated on Stan's leg, eyes flitting all over it, and Stan could almost see the way calculations formed in his head. He knew he'd be able to get it perfect on the first try. 

"On three." Rick took his ankle in one hand and just below his knee in the other.

"Oh, fuck." Stan couldn't look. He tipped his head back to rest on the hard lip on the tub again, grimacing already. He hid his eyes in the crook of his elbow. "Make it quick."

"Okay, fine. _Three_." His expression was pained, but Rick shoved the bone back in place.

Stan passed out again.

When he finally came back, he was sitting naked and shivering in a drained bathtub. Rick was already working steadily, strips of gauze and a bowl full of white liquid plaster. He looked up after smoothing down another strip, surprised Stan was awake. Stan didn't even try to hide the pained expression on his face this time.

"I can knock you out with that pen." Rick suggested right away, rising to his feet. Stan was in so much pain, he could smell it on himself--sour, like a nervous sweat.

"No.  _Pills_ ," Stan managed to cough, gripping the lip of the tub on either side of his splayed arms, clamping down so hard his hands shook. He really, really didn't want to be unconscious _again_. Time was slippery enough already, he had no idea how long it had been since he'd been taken, how long he'd gone without eating, he didn't even know what time of day it was.

"On it." Rick affirmed and pushed out of the bathroom and grabbed the bottle of pills near his bed he'd been using to manage his headaches.

Empty.

He vaguely remembered taking the last pills when he'd been hammered out of his mind last night, when his headache had pounded even though the alcohol and he just wanted relief.

"Well, fuck me." Rick shook the empty painkillers bottle again, like he'd hear the rattling of a lone pill if he shook it hard enough. He didn't have time to run and get more, Stan was hurting _now_ and--

What was he _thinking?_ He had a ton of painkilling medicine, the anti growing pain pills from the Council.

He knew himself, and so that meant he'd know how these other Ricks ticked. These pills wouldn't be anything special, even though the bottle said they were. If nothing else, Ricks liked to feel pandered to. Rick checked the list of the ingredients in the back, and recognized most of the chemical names as something in regular old pills you'd buy from the store. Just like the weird green color, it must have all been for show. He double-checked, and it said it worked for aches in the head and body.

Good enough for him. 

"Here, Brawny." Rick cupped his hand and brought the pill to Stan's mouth, and he offered him a swig of water. Stan trusted him fully, opened his mouth for the pill and for the water. He swallowed and sighed, opening his eyes and looking deeply into Rick's. His pupils dilated in a fast stretch, blowing up until just an ultra thin ring of brandy-brown surrounded the black holes.

" _Whoaa_." Stan gasped, awestruck. "That thing worked fuckin' _fast_." 

"Does it still hurt?" Rick asked, concern flitting across his face at Stan's extremely dilated eyes. 

"Barely. Damn, you're good." Stan shivered again. "But can I at least lay down in my bed while the cast dries?"

"Almost done." Rick dipped and slapped on a few more strips, and Stan calmly watched. The pain had regressed fast, and now he felt _good_. A little bit high and floaty, yes, but he mostly felt all warm-and-fuzzy. He couldn't wait until the pill wore off just so he could have another. 

Rick struggled to help him, but the two clung to each other and shuffled and grunted until Stan could stretch out on his mattress. So, it was nighttime, Stan realized, but it didn't feel like it. God, he still didn't even know how many _days_ it had been.

Rick was painstakingly gentle as he helped him prop up his leg on a pillow, and suddenly Stan had an idea. 

"Hey," Stan nodded to the wet cast. "Try that pen you always use to clean up liquids on it."

Rick looked dubious but slipped the device out of his pocket. He fiddled with the settings--wouldn't be a good idea to use the full blast that could strip buckets of blood off of the walls on him-- and let it scan the cast, then it cast a gentle beam of light. Stan felt it tighten around his shin as it dried instantly. 

"Holy shit, I didn't actually think that was gonna work." Rick grinned, stripped off his soaking wet pants and shirt and crawled naked on his knees into bed with him. The sheets rustled loudly as Rick stretched out beside him, Rick dragged his fingers along the underside of Stan's arm until they'd bumped over his wrist, and he pushed his fingers in through the gaps in his fingers and held his hand tight. Stan held it back, and looped his other arm around Rick's waist.

"I thought I was a goner." Stan whispered to him, running his arm up and down the side of his waist, feeling the ribs bumping under his fingertips. 

A strange, intense feeling passed over him like a wave, and he slipped his hand down and took a handful of Rick's ass, the skin was colder to the touch from the press of soaking wet clothes. Rick's expression was affectionate in a subtle way, his eyelids hung low with a sultry gaze in his dark brown eyes. Something low in Stan's stomach stirred, something that felt good and was building in intensity _fast_ , like the swoop of an exponential line. _What the hell is this whoa whoa **whoa** -_

He just wanted to be inside something, he throbbed, he wanted-- _needed_ \--his breath caught in his throat, he groaned softly. It was so unfamiliar. The only thing that was close to this was anger, when he got so worked up that it felt like nothing could calm him down, when he saw red and couldn't stop himself until he'd socked a few faces and punted a few stomachs. The current of energy felt deep, aggressive, primal,  _insatiable. Wait_ _, since when have I thought in words like "insatiable"?_  

Rick drew close and kissed him, pressing close and hiding his face under his jaw. 

"Damn, Rick. I really want to fuck you right about now." Stan slid his fingers further across the globe of his ass, slipping them into the warm crack and groping, finding his puckered entrance and circling gently with dull pressure.

A pang of uncertainty and almost concern passed across Rick's face. Had he accidentally portal'd into a different, super similar universe when he was off slaughtering the rest of the cartel alongside Bubblegum? If he'd knocked the dial on the portal accidentally, maybe it could have put his journey off by a tiny fraction of a degree? Was this really  _his_ Stan?

Stan couldn't find it in him to think about why Rick looked at him that way. God, he was so _distracted_. He wanted to slide into Rick. Right  _now--_

"Are y-you--?"

"Yeah, I'm sure." Stan stopped him before he could say anything else, easily scooping him up by the waist to be on top of him. "Yeah. Please." He caressed down Rick's back, let his middle finger ride down his spine and finally at the end of his tailbone, he pushed in against the ring of resisting muscle. Rick gasped quietly, Stan could feel the way that he made the walls of muscles around his finger relax, and then Stan pressed in even deeper with a rough push. 

"Mnnn," Rick melted into Stan, pressed flushed chest to chest. "God yes. Right th-- _unnnhh_ ." 

"You saved my life." Stan whispered, pumping inside of Rick, watching him nearly come apart just from his fingers alone. Rick huffed, crying out softly when Stan pressed in deep and Rick rocked up against the body beneath him, his pole-thin thighs already shaking.

"I want you." Stan's voice rasped. "God, I need you. I want to be inside you again, _right now._ "

Rick straddled Stan immediately, scrambling for the bedside table and letting a handful of lube ooze out into his hand. He lubed Stan up-- Stan couldn't believe he was already this hard, and Rick didn't even have to touch or stroke him this time. Maybe his near-death experience had changed something in him--shit, he couldn't even think like he did the first time they had sex.

His mind wasn't open to wander, he was so damn _distracted_ by how much he needed this. His thoughts, anything not about sex, were hazy and clouded over, shut out. He was just focused on Rick's touch, the cold and gooey sensation of the lubricant.  He didn't understand how the hell he suddenly was experiencing being horny, it felt a lot different than he'd imagined it would. Powerful, like adrenaline. Frantic energy. Like he could run a mile in two minutes. He wanted to flip a car. He felt his strength like it was coiled up impatiently in him.

He couldn't even think about it too much, all he wanted was _Rick_.

Stan gently spread apart Rick's cheeks and lined up, and at the next thrust Stan felt himself sink deep into him, encased in his warmth, the all-encompassing tightness. Rick was already breathless, waiting for Stan's expected gentle thrusts. Stan humped his hips up roughly, clinging onto Rick and pressing him close. He breathed in when Rick exhaled, he thrust up into him and found a fast-paced rhythm to his hips, pushing up, pulling back, thrusting in deeper as Rick panted and sighed his name.

They changed positions, unspoken, Rick let Stan hold his weight, flip him over, hover on top within the tangle of his arms. Rick sank into the bed at his back, his facial expression melted into one of pure bliss. Stan ground down and thrust up into Rick, even harder this time. His breath huffed out of him, each puff accompanied the thrusting of his hips. The change in position made it easier, he wasn't fighting gravity anymore.

Rick moaned and clasped his hands around Stan's waist, tugging the hip bones like handles to pull him even further into his body, and he spread his legs even wider apart and hooked his ankles around Stan's back. Stan went so deep he couldn't believe the closeness of his body and Rick's, his entire length had disappeared inside of him. Stan panted and pulled back, slamming back into him and feeling the way he stretched around him. Rick choked back his breath and whined quietly, tilted his head back and stretched his pale neck, his face framed between Stan's lower arms.

" _Babe_." Rick sighed, clutching onto Stan's bare back. "God, yes." 

Stan thrust in faster now, surprised when it began to make a sound, flesh slapping quietly against flesh. "You saved my life, Rick. Fuck, I want--"

"Harder." Rick panted, his whole body rocking slightly at the motion. The building pressure deep in Stan's core made his head spin, each roll of his pelvis brought him closer to--

God, this _pressure!_

Warmth, wetness, desire, he needed to-

S _o **close**_

_So this is what 's supposed to feel li--oh fuckfuckf--_

Emptying, fluids pushing out in pulses, he could feel his energy flowing out with it. He collapsed on top of Rick, feeling heavy. He sucked in breaths, pressing his face to the open space just above Rick's shoulder, his hips still quivering. Rick's warm hands pressed over his back, and they began to rub softly as Stan gulped in breaths of air and slipped out of him.

It took him a second for his head to clear. He'd been so wrapped up in his own head, his own good feelings, he hadn't been thinking about trying to get Rick off. Usually, that was all he cared about, if Rick was the one who felt good. He felt like he was coming out of a haze, one where he lost himself, he wasn't aware of anything past the edge of the mattress. There could have been a tornado outside and he wouldn't have even noticed. He was finally coming out of it, and now he felt strange. He'd never had an experience like that before, where he was disconnected from his own mind.

"Rick," Stan whispered hoarsely from above his shoulder. "What... just..." 

"A-Are you Stan from dimension A-618?" Rick asked him unsurely, and Stan immediately stiffened and lifted himself up on his elbows to look into Rick's eyes. His arms were already shaking. Rick had told him the name of his home dimension around the same time he'd shown him the distress signal; they were such small things that he could use in the case of an emergency, but gave Stan a disproportionate amount of pride. It felt like a milestone for Rick letting him into his life, but now he was panicking that he'd even asked him. 

"What?!  _Yes!_ Rick, of course I am!" Stan's voice trembled. Rick looked visibly relieved, sighing and pulling Stan in closer by his arms already wrapped around his back.

"Why would you ask me that?! That question is supposed to be used for emergencies! Only!" Stan pulled away, shoving himself away from Rick and panicking now, feeling his heart hammering away a mile a minute. He perched on the edge of the bed, trying to create as much distance between himself and Rick as possible.

"Damn, Stanley, I've just...I-I've never--I didn't think you had that in you." Rick blinked sheepishly at him, still sprawled out on his back, globs of his own cum in ropes on his stomach. Shit, and Stan had kept _going_  after that? He couldn't even remember when that might have happened.

"Me neither." Stan grunted, and summoned all the strength he could to get up, feeling ungraceful and clunky standing up with his cast. Was it crazy that he'd even forgotten that it was on his leg, in the moment? _I didn't think that I **did** have that in me. _ It all sank in. He didn't feel like himself at all, the memory of the past few minutes felt fake, like it was put into his head by someone else. 

He reached down and grabbed a dirty pair of boxers and struggled to pull them on. He heard the sheets rustle as Rick climbed up to help him, but Stan shook his head and put up his hands. "Don't touch... just... _don't_." Rick froze, mid-climb.

"I'm fine. I can do it myself." Stan grunted instead and hobbled to the bathroom. He wanted to clean himself, and not cheat with Rick's device. He wanted to feel really clean, with good old fashioned water and soap. He needed to _think_. 

*   *   *

Stan stared at his reflection, digging the pads of his fingers hard against the porcelain of the sink. He felt  _off_ , but he couldn't quite place how. His pupils looked too big. He broke eye contact with himself and hung his head, sucking in breaths to try and calm himself down. This was weird, new, like he'd had something... _transplanted_ into his... he didn't know. His skin crawled when he found himself thinking too much about it.

"Hurry up, you're been in there for half an hour! I really have to whizz." Rick slapped at the door three times instead of knocking. "And I still have your cum in my ass. I need a shower!"

"Rick, there's..." Stan felt a wave of skin-crawling nausea and jerked the faucet on, rapidly splashing his face with cold water. "I don't feel well."

Rick tried the doorknob, which clicked and stayed stationary.

"Well, why? What's wrong?" Rick's voice was muffled from behind the doorframe.

"I'm..." Stan felt red in the face with just the thought of needing to say it aloud, and he finally shut off the faucet with a squeal and patted at his face with the bath towel that Rick and him somehow were sharing now. "Rick, I'm... feeling... kind of horny. Or something." He explained, his stomach sinking once again. His breath shuddered out of him, and he white-knuckled the edge of the sink.

"Uhhhh, _good?_ " Rick's confused voice came through the door. "That's kind of what I'm here for? Round two, baby. Come on out here and we can start getting it on, Stan, I mean, all you gotta do is ask--"

"No, Rick. This is... I don't think this is good. This isn't _myself_." Stan wound up tugging his shirt off over his head, he felt feverish chills tickling up and down his body. The world tilted, he phased in and out of consciousness like a wave passing over him, he met his own dilated eyes again after the black snowflakes had cleared. 

He couldn't believe his own consciousness was in this body, that his brain was what was looking out through this pair of eyes. That he was really inside of the thing, the body, that was hunched over on the other side of the mirror. He felt like he was larger than it.

"Whoa," He grunted, pressing his hand over his stomach. "Oh, fuck."

"Stan? You okay...? Shit, man, just unlock the door."

Stan sucked in a deep breath and twisted the knob, even through the intense vertigo. He caught himself with one hand pressed to the floor, and eased himself down and made sure to be extra gentle when he placed his casted leg on the floor.

Rick burst in and kneeled next to him, reaching to place the back of his hand in concern on his forehead and feel for a fever. Stan flinched away like a feral animal, wide eyes fearful as they searched Rick's face. He began to hyperventilate, pressing himself closer to the wall at his back.

"Whoa, hey, it's okay." Rick crooned. "Tell me what's wrong."

"Rick, something's off. In my brain. My thinking, my _mind_... it doesn't feel the same as before." Stan nearly whimpered, suddenly even more terrified now that he was saying it aloud. "It feels really, really different. I'm feeling turned on, which is really, _uhhh_ , unfamiliar, and I'm feeling, _shit_ , like I'm inquisitive and observational, I'm...it's almost like I'm... smart? No, not even that. It's like I'm--"

Rick swallowed, something guilty about his expression. Stan made the leap to conclusions.

"You're out of pain pills." Stan's voice was steady and convinced. "You gave me one of those pills. The Council growing pain pills. It didn't taste right when I swallowed it. They were designed only for Ricks to use, and now---"

Stan closed his eyes, and leaned his head up back against the wall. "You need to scan my brainwaves." He said in the same, certain and carefully measured way. "It dampened my neutralization. I can feel it. If we normally have opposing brainwaves---"

Rick's mouth was hanging open, and it didn't look like he was aware of it. "Holy shit." Rick breathed.

"Then this pill must have changed my brainwaves. To move closer to what your wavelength looks like." Stan still didn't open his eyes, and he spoke so calmly it was hard to tell how scared he was. "Here's what's going to happen. You're going to scan my brainwaves, reaffirm that that's what's happening, and take it out."

"What if that's not it?" Rick asked. "Okay, yeah, I gave you a Rick pill. But I had no other choice! You needed something, I didn't think it would be that complicated of a painkiller--I read the ingredients!"

"I need you to just test this." Stan's eyes squinted open, and he looked up at Rick with his head tilted back and resting on the wall, his expression pitiful. "Please," His voice wavered this time. "Just test it. What I just said."

Rick's expression fell, and he knew right then. Stan was completely right. He had to be. His eyebrows drew together, and then his whole face went flat.

"I didn't know." Rick insisted quietly. "I had no idea it would do this. I didn't want to guinea pig you, Stan, I promise you I didn't want to do that."

"It's okay. I know." Stan gently shook his head. "I just want things to go back to normal."

Rick helped him to his feet, looped his arm under his armpits and across his back, Stan grunted softly when he had to place weight on his casted leg.

"I can fix this." Rick told him. "I one-hundred percent can take care of this. I-uh-look, just gimme a little patience. That's all."

Stan rested on his back flat on the highly uncomfortable steel operating table down in Rick's lab. He tried to just focus on the sensation of the nodes on his head and tried not to let any of the racing thoughts into his mind. They still came in anyway.

Stan had been right. 

Rick's solution was to use a machine to filter his blood, and get the majority of the pill out of his bloodstream that way. He'd tested it out on himself before, multiple times. The machine was reliable, he promised, even though Stan was dubious because it really looked like a multi-chambered bong with a pump and a few thin tubes for blood. 

Stan tried to ignore the pinch of hollow needles in the crooks of his elbows, and really, really tried not to think about the feeling of his blood getting sucked away in one arm and returned into the other, or the strange wheezing that the machine that filtered it was making. He lay in Rick's bed by the window, Rick sat on the desk chair next to him and scribbled wildly in a notebook, flipping pages loudly and constantly checking up on the dials and numbers the filtering machine supplied. 

"Why did you have this machine already made?" Stan asked out of curiosity, softly speaking up after a long, stretched out silence between the two. 

"Drugs." Rick replied, still scribbling wildly on his page. "Human bodies can't break down some of the off-planet stuff. You'd be high forever. It was fun taking some of that long-lasting stuff, but this is how I'd get it out of my system, sober up. It opened a lot more doors of shit I could take." 

"So, what was the longest you'd been high on one of those drugs for?" Stan asked again. He was clearly trying to distract himself; he looked meek resting on the bed, propped up by two pillows at his back, his hair was still messy from sex, looking a little pale-faced from all the equipment he was hooked up to, the clear tubes with deep, blackish red pumping through them.

"...Eight months." Rick admitted, insecure, avoiding Stan's eyes and hoping he wouldn't be judged too hard for it.

"Damn," Stan whistled low. "We should both try that out sometime together. Sounds _fun_." 

Rick finally looked up from his notebook, a very minuscule smile on his face.  "Uh, y-yeah. We can do that." 

The machine gurgled and wheezed loudly, causing both of their eyes to flick to it. 

"Why didn't you ask me?" Stan's voice was just above that of a whisper. He knew Rick would know what he meant.

"If you wanted to leave it be? If you wanted to stay a way that wasn't real? With side effects that were as unpredictable as fuck? Stay a way that... w-wasn't you?" Rick reaffirmed. "I-I fucked up, giving you that pill. I misjudged the other Ricks big time. But _you_ \--I..."

"...Coulda been a good thing." Stan felt insecure all of the sudden. What would be so bad about being a little smarter, or being better at sex for Rick? What was so great about his original self, anyway?

"But it wouldn't be _you_ anymore." Rick insisted. "And yeah, I know this isn't my real universe, and technically, you're not...th-the Rick that belonged here died. But you're _my_ Stan, and this is my universe now. Because I want this version of you." 

Rick hugged his knees to his chest in a childish way, it made him look so small and much younger than he was. "Maybe..." He started, avoiding Stan's eyes and looking to the floor. "But maybe we should just be friends again. Go back over this line."

"You 'n me both know we won't last a day trying that." Stan, despite everything, just had to chuckle. "I love _being_ with you too damn much. Kissing you is like... _phew-_ " Stan mocked wiping his forehead of non-existent sweat. "Every time. Gets me good." 

Rick's mouth sagged into a tiny frown, he still didn't move. 

"Rick, if you're serious..." Stan's expression fell. "Please don't say you're serious. I don't want to do that." 

Rick let out a bitter huff of air, and hung his head. "I should have known I'd hurt you. We should have never--we shouldn't." 

" _What?_ " Stan asked, taken off-guard. He blinked rapidly, and his mouth pressed into a confused frown. "Rick, what the hell are you talking about?" 

"We shouldn't do this." Rick's words had grown hard, and clumsily swung his legs off of the chair so that he sat on the edge, and prepared to get up when Stan shot out and grabbed his wrist, then he groaned softly at the pinch from the needle at the stretch. 

"What the hell are you talking about? Me and you? I've made tons of bad choices in my past, okay? Hundreds, maybe. I know what a bad choice feels like, and this... this isn't one of them." Stan admitted, and loosened his grip on Rick's wrist. He let go, and Rick finally looked at him with exhausted eyes. "We both wanted to--"

"Y-Yeah? Well, maybe I didn't." Rick turned away, hugging his arms close and picking nervously at the skin. "Maybe I hesitated because know how bad I am for you. Maybe I know that I'll keep fucking you over. Maybe I'm...I'm...still the third evilest Rick out there. And you're _not_ the third worst, Stan, because this isn't even my home dimension." 

"You keep bringing that up, like it means jack shit. It doesn't, okay?" Stan sighed. "I can't be your _friend_ , Rick. Not after everything. It would kill me. You know that, right?"

"Well, if we can't be friends, maybe we should--m-maybe--" Rick sputtered, and finally shielded his eyes with his palm.

"C'mere." Stan whispered softly, patting at the space on the bed beside him.

Rick climbed up next to him, lifting and ducking under the tubes that were warm to the touch. He stretched himself out and didn't touch too much of Stan, just let his hand rest spread out in the middle of his chest. 

"It wouldn't be a good thing." Rick insisted quietly. "Our brainwaves are almost perfect opposites. If I left that medicine in you too long, even one pill-- it would be unstable. You felt that, right? The conflict." 

"Conflict," Stan parroted. That would be one way to put it, yeah.

"It's wayyy more complicated than just making you smarter or giving you a sex drive. It would have--" Rick shook his head, then pressed his cheek down to squish against the blanket. His eyes pinched closed, he sighed through his nostrils and his eyebrows drew down hard over his closed eyes. He looked so pitifully in distress that Stan reached out and placed his his large hand over his wild hair, running his thumb across his forehead. 

"I dunno." Rick mumbled into the blanket. "Stanley, I-I-I really...I-" Rick's stutter worsened, he sucked in breaths faster. If Stan thought he'd had a stressful day, he couldn't even imagine what Rick was going through. The fear of losing him, the stress of tracking him down, murdering all those people, cleaning Stan up and patching up his leg, now having to deal with giving him a dangerous pill-

"This was a pretty bad day. You've been through even more shit than me. But guess what? We have a car now." Stan interrupted him, putting his hand on his cheek and playfully pinching it. Stan couldn't help but smile, then he felt laughter bubbling out of him in its unexpected way again. "We actually have a fuckin'  _car_ now."

Rick shot up, criss-crossing his legs and steadying himself with a hand on Stan's thigh. "The _DeVille!_ " Rick's hand flew to his head. "It's--of fuck! Yeah! It's _ours_ now, baby!" 

Stan joined in the enthusiasm, curling his hand over Rick's bony knee right back and giving it a squeeze. "The DeVille." He echoed, grinning. "What are we gonna name 'er?"

"The Pinesportation." Rick blurted, immediately followed by a " _Shiiit,_ that was bad."

"Bad?" Stan chuckled, shaking his head. "Terrible."

" _El Diablo Rojo_." Rick nearly purred.

"Not as bad." Stan replied, giving his leg another squeeze. "El Diablo, it is, then." 

"I can do better." Rick insisted, chewing on his lower lip. "I just gotta think about it."

"I'm going to drive that thing _forever_." Stan declared. "I mean it. Just out of spite. If I had to spend that long in the trunk, I'd say I've earned it. I just have to change the plates, though. Piece of cake. I could do a plate forgery in my sleep. When can we take 'er for a spin?" Stan asked, itching to get up and get behind the wheel. 

"It looks like you're about seventy percent of the way there." Rick squinted at the machine, looking at the greenish clumps forming at the very bottom of the chamber of filters. "Maybe another hour and a half of being strapped up to this thing. But it's _late_ , we could--"

"I can wait." Stan insisted. "I want to go for a drive with you." 

"I'll get the pot ready." Rick patted at his knee and got up, leaving Stan to lean back into his pillows and sigh. The machine wheezed again, loudly. 

"Oh, shuddup." Stan hissed at it.

*   *   *

Rick wouldn't let Stan drive with his cast, no matter how much he whined about it. He did let him sit in the driver's seat for a few minutes before sliding over, and Stan ran his fingers over the steering wheel, over the dashboard, let himself sink into the seat at his back and breathe in the scent. He tipped his head back and laughed, curling his fingers around the steering wheel again. 

"Okay, enough. It's like you're getting ready to fuck this thing." Rick crawled in next to him with his left hand gripping the door handle. "I'm getting jealous. Scooch." 

Rick slammed the door, and Stan only got a small twinge of fear at the exact same _whump_ as earlier, when he'd been in the middle of the road. He flinched.

"Too soon?" It didn't go undetected by Rick. 

"No!" Stan protested, firmly crossing his arms. "Just-- _drive_." 

They finally pulled off to the side of the road after about half an hour, and if the clock on the dash was right, it was nearly four in the morning. Even though it was late and Stan couldn't help his long, slow blinks, Rick had no shortage of energy as he enthusiastically took an axe to every one of the metal organ boxes and smashed them up into a pile of parts, as Stan watched in amusement from the car's hood where he sipped on a cold beer. Rick doused them in gasoline, and Stan lit up his blunt at the same time as Rick struck a match to incinerate the pile.

Rick sauntered back to the car, red and orange flames at his back turning his figure into a wiry silhouette. He slid onto the hood of the car, huffing, and beckoning silently for Stan's blunt. They smoked in silence, passing it back and forth between them, slowly relaxing and laying down on the hood with the cool metal at their backs. The small blaze of metal parts died out without any fuel to burn, and Stan had Rick hand him his flask to wash back a few (regular) painkillers they'd shoplifted from a store on the way over, along with their six-pack of beer.

Stan's thoughts swirled in his head. If he didn't know that he was a non-sexual person before, he sure as hell did now. Just thinking about what he did, the extremely unfamiliar craving and attraction, how rough he'd been with Rick-- he felt sick to his stomach just thinking about it now. He didn't know how to bring it up to him. 

"Did you really think it wasn't me?" Stan asked, after a very long stretch of silence between the two of them. "When we..."

"Maybe. For a minute, there." Rick rolled to his side to look at Stan. "I had to be sure. But that-that wasn't your fault. Those pills are _baaaad_ fuckin' news. They'll make you high, horny, and happy. No wonder Ricks are eating out of the Council's hand with this shit. That's all we want to be, really. That, and drunk." As if on cue, he tipped back his flask with a soft sloshing sound. He laughed softly with his mouth still around the opening. 

Stan geared himself up to say what was coming next. He didn't look at Rick, instead he just looked at the expanse of dark sky above. "I've never felt like that before, you know. I dunno, it's always just... blankness, with me. Sex doesn't really come to my mind, my body doesn't react to it either. I don't think I--look, if you want to, you can do it, you know. I won't mind." Stan tapped nervously on the hood, his fingers drumming out an irregular rhythm. "As long as they're still versions of me." 

Rick propped himself up and stared at him, scowling. Without warning, he whapped him on the head with the back of his flask.

" _Ow!_ Goddammit, what the fuck?!" Stan's hand clapped over the tender bump. He looked confused, then angry, then confused again. "Um, _ow?!_ "

"How many times do I have to tell you that you're _my_ Stan?" Rick grumbled, clumsily fisting the front of his shirt. "I don't care that I'm a dimensional straggler anymore. I don't care about your past, I don't care that you're a Kinsey X, and I d-don't care that I've had to keep running away and switching universes ever since I fucked over the one I was born to. This is... the longest I've been in one place in-in years. Maybe since the accident. I dunno. I'm too wasted all of the time to give a shit, I haven't exactly kept track." He dragged his hand across his mouth, smearing a bit of drool. "Even if I leave this one, I'm taking you with me. I promised Mi-Mirror one Rick, one Stan. So don't." 

Stan stared at him, wide-eyed, then down at the hand fisted in his shirt. "O-okay." He stammered, not quite sure what else to say. It felt like a lot to take in. Rick really was serious about taking him with him from now on, about sticking it out with him. It made Stan's chest feel like it was expanding all of the sudden.

"Unless..." Rick let go, and planted both feet on the ground, he backed away from the car.

"Rick, stop it. Of course I want to be with you." Stan balanced on the edge of the hood, careful to plant his one good foot so that he wouldn't slip and put any weight on the other. "This _you_ \--dammit, you know what I mean. So, just come back here and kiss me already." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you could leave me a comment that would be sweet!  
> I'm losing a bit of steam with this story and hearing feedback or just hearing from you guys is super motivational. This is nearly over, I think I'll only be posting maybe 3 more chapters-- I just have one more arc about the origins of Evil Morty, and then maybe a run-in with Rick and Ford, and I'm always open to suggestions, too :)


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks SO much for all the support & comments on the last chapter!!! <3  
> I was so up in the air about keeping this as one chapter, but I decided to do another split when it got way, way too long. That means the 2nd part to this chapter will be up really soon!
> 
> Good news is I have a ton planned for this sitting in my drafts, and I'm pretty sure this is going to end up being 22 or 23 chapters total. And I'm going to try my best to finish it, even if it takes a long time...  
> Thanks for reading!  
> CW: mentions of suicide, a few slurs

It was late. It was that specific type of late at night that makes it seem like the darkness will go on forever, when words simply flow out of your mouth, when your body becomes heavy with the weight of sleep perched on your shoulders, like a gargoyle, just waiting for a long enough blink to make its move and swallow you in. 

Rick and Stan laid down together in the front seat of the newly stolen car side-by-side, the silence seemed to be blaring. Rick tipped back the last of the bubbly backwash from his last beer and tossed it backward out the window, where it landed to the ground with an aluminum clink. 

"Your arms sore?" Stan asked, Rick crossed his arms in his twiggy angles and kneaded at his thin biceps, wincing. 

"I was going pretty hard on those boxes." He grunted softly, rubbing his arms up and down. "Damn, I'm weak."

A length of silence stretched over the two, Stan couldn't help but lean his head against the smooth leather of the seat and rest his temple there. Time flowed like molasses, the night felt like velvet. A blue glow underneath his eyelids began to grow outward in rings, passing over him like he was moving through a tunnel. He remembered that Ford once told him what they were called, the pre-sleep hallucinations, but he'd never remember that name now. Growing up, it was like Ford knew everything there was to know about the world.

Shit, he still owed him that phone call.

Another wave of glowing blue grew in a ring and faded, and another wave, three, four...

"Are you...?" 

"I'm still awake," Stan grumbled. "I'm tired, though. Do you just want to spend tonight parked here?" Stan asked, covering his mouth with a stretchy yawn.

"Mm-hmm." Rick swung his leg and hitched it over Stan, straddling him. 

"Then let's just take our time with this, yeah?" Stan tugged on Rick's tee, pulling upward until Rick ducked out of it. "We haven't done this before, y'know. Helped each other get  undressed." 

" _Undressed_ ," Rick parroted in a breathy, sarcastic way, and helped to heave Stan up from his position on his back. "You're so old-school. Let me guess, you call it 'making love', too?" 

"Nah," Stan chuckled and playfully wrestled with Rick's hands as Rick tried to help him out of his own shirt. "Even worse. I'll only say "coitus." 

Rick let his hands fall limp in Stan's, he threw his head back with a bark of a laugh.  "That word is so bad! Almost as bad as  _moist_." 

"Oh God, can we not have a gross words-off while I'm trying to get out of my damn shirt?" 

"Well, y-you'd be out of it a lot quicker if you just let me  _help!_ " 

Stan stopped wrestling with him and let Rick peel his shirt off, up and over his head, and when he saw Stan's face again after its partial obscuration from cloth, Rick slipped closer into his lap and folded his arms around his shoulders, crossing them at the wrists where they hung behind his back.

"Hey." Stan uttered quietly, not really for any reason, and felt like it sounded stupid the second it passed his lips.

"Hey, Stan." Rick purred back affectionately, he didn't seem to think it sounded stupid. His lips twitched into a barely-there smile, and he closed the gap between their faces and pressed a kiss to the crease at the edge of Stan's mouth. "I guess we're breaking in this car?"

"I guess we'll have to pick a good name, then." Stan massaged his thumbs in circles over Rick's hipbones. "Thought of one yet?" 

"I have one." Rick taunted, one of those mysterious smiles on his face. "But I'm only telling you after."

"Asshole." Stan grunted, amused, and reached to pop open Rick's button, and slipped his fingers through the belt loops. Rick reached out and stilled Stan's searching hand. 

"Hang on," Rick muttered. "How is this supposed to work? You just get me off all of the time? Doesn't seem fair."

Rick slid his hand up Stan's thigh to his groin, but Stan jerked away.  "Can't we just talk about this later?" He blurted. "I just want to do this for you right now, is all." 

Rick lifted a brow while Stan avoided his eyes, and let his hand wander to his fly yet again. "We can worry about it later. I mean, what are we going to do? Pencil it in? When who gets it? Come _on_. It'll happen just... how it happens, right?" 

Stan ran his hand slowly down his chest, sliding it across his concave stomach and then curling his hand around his waist. Rick  clearly felt a little hesitant about going so slowly, he crossed one arm over his chest insecurely and grabbed his other elbow with it, trying to hide at least part of his body with his arm. His eyes trailed off to the side, his mouth sagging into a frown.

Stan tucked his fingers around his waist and held them there, squeezing in a way that he hoped was reassuring. He sat back upright again, giving him some space. "Or... I mean, I just felt like we've seen each other naked a lot now, but, we can always--" Stan started, not expecting when Rick dropped forward to press to his forehead to his shoulder. 

"How can you like what you see?" Rick muttered into his collarbone. "I don't." 

" _Hey_." Stan hooked his arm around his back and pulled him in closer, wrapping him into a loose embrace. "I really like the way you look, Rick. I know I don't say it to you as much as you say stuff to me. I notice it, though. All the time. File it away, in my head. I'm trying to be better, I guess I just--" Stan almost laughed at this. "Guard my thoughts too much."

"Yeah, me and you both, buddy." Rick muttered, and  Stan's eyes roamed over Rick when they pulled apart, and Rick rolled his eyes after a moment of Stan's too-serious concentrated expression.  

"I feel  _lame_." Rick groaned in protest. "You don't have to do this."

"Shh for a second. I'm trying to remember all the things I wished I would have said to you, but didn't." Stan met Rick's eyes again, color had started to flush high in his cheeks. "Being in the trunk of this thing... I realized there was a lot I never said. To anyone, y'know? And I know this is gonna sound stupid. But your eyes. Yeah. I'm always--I dunno. Getting sorta lost in 'em." 

Rick stiffened like he wanted to push away, his expression shut off and tightened.  "-Don't." He croaked in a voice that was barely audible. It looked like he was unfamiliar with this kind of compliment, when he could feel the weight of how genuine it was. It almost looked like it hurt him to hear it.

Stan hadn't heard him say anything. "Your stomach is really hot." Stan's ears turned a little pink at the edges at that. He cleared his throat. "Actually--that's kind of your word, not mine. It's, er, nice. It's more like, I really like to look at it sometimes. Whenever you're showing some skin I like looking. Your shoulders--you're a little pokey in some places, yeah, but I think it's really..." Stan clearly was having trouble processing the fact he was really saying this all aloud to Rick. "I just like it."

Rick opened his mouth, clearly to protest, but he only got a syllable in before Stan threw himself back into the conversation over him. 

" _And!_  You're tall. I really like that you're taller than me, and yeah, you're thin, but you're still strong in a different way than me. Lean, sorta. I can see your muscles sometimes, your legs go for miles,  _damn_  they make you look good, and I... yeah. I like being--" Stan coughed. He didn't mean for this to turn into dirty talk or anything, but-- "I really like it when you wrap them around me." 

Rick finally gave into a wobbly smile. "Okay, I'm going to need you to stop before I yack." 

"I thought about you. In the trunk, when I thought I'd need to broadcast my pain somehow to you. I thought about you when I, uh, kept it hurting, you know. Poked it a little bit, that kinda thing." 

"Shit." Rick's eyes flicked down to his casted leg again. "Stan, y-you're badass." 

"Speak for yourself," Stan smirked. "You did all my dirty work." He surged forward, wrapped his arm around Rick's back and eased him down horizontal on the seat. 

"Careful," Rick reached out to touch the top of Stan's knee from where he lay, surrounded by Stan's body. "Don't put weight on it."

"I'm fine, Rick." Stan dismissed and crouched over him, he planted an elbow by his ear on the seat, and he wound his fingers into his hair at the top of his head. Rick watched his every move, amused, but his expression remained soft.  With the other hand Stan reached down, pulled the pants down more, and carefully drew his penis out of them. 

"I like getting you off." Stan whispered, stroking him experimentally. "I like your expressions. When you're not in pain, when you look like you're enjoying it. And I like seeing that and knowing it's because of what I'm doing to you." 

Rick's hips bucked up from under him, a small groan slipped out as Stan rubbed at the head in slow, pressured circles. He fucked up into Stan's hand, the rocking of his hips making the leather seats rub dryly with soft noises. 

"I like how goddamn vocal you are. The way you hum, swear... when you say my name." Stan's voice rumbled into his ear, private, his warm breath sending shivers up Rick's spine. 

"I was pretty scared." Stan found himself saying. "Being in the trunk of this thing. I didn't know if it was going to be _it_ for me. If Ford and Ma and my family... weren't gonna have a body to put in the ground or something... I don't know. You saved my fucking _life_ , Rick."

Rick curled his bony fingers around Stan's biceps and let his eyes slowly roam over him, his lids drooping over his dark brown irises in a bedroom-eyes gaze. Stan always felt his chest constrict when Rick looked at him like that, and he lowered his face closer to press a gentle kiss to his mouth. Rick met his lips, they parted with a sound of quiet suction.  The feeling of a flurry passed through Stan: wow, he loved it when Rick kissed him. 

"I like doing this with you." Stan said carefully, as if he were reciting it, he was clearly battling against his impulse to hide the true information and completely fudge what he'd pretend he was disclosing. He hated how all his conning turned out to have this impact on him. He pushed his fingers through the fluffy hair at the crest of Rick's forehead first, gearing himself up.

He let out a huff, and dove in. "I'm glad it was with you. My first time. I never knew what it was going to be like, and I spent a lot of time worrying about how it was gonna happen to me. But you made it okay. When you held my hands, how you guided me through it-- I know we had a stupid fight after. But that moment, when I came inside you and you kissed me through it...I mean, yeah, I was a little scared. But it was good. You might not think so, but it felt perfect. To me."  

Rick took his lower lip between his teeth. It looked like it was hard for him to processes what he'd said, like it caught him off guard. He looked like what he was hearing made him happy, but that feeling of happiness was so foreign it became uncomfortable. His intelligent eyes craved to believe it, his facial expression showed how hard he was fighting it back.

" _Fuck_ , Stanley." Rick's head knocked back onto the seat, eyes shut tight, he hid his eyes with the crook of his elbow. It took a moment of disconnect before he went to gently pull his arm away, to caress Rick's cheek with his thumb. Rick's eyelids finally folded open hesitantly, his expression was vulnerable and tight with discomfort.

"You okay, Rick?" Stan asked quietly, pulling away and putting some space between them. 

"This is-- why is this so  _hard_ ," Rick finally admitted quietly, his brows pinched, he still didn't open his eyes. His tongue passed over his lips and he sighed, finally peeking open his eyes just a slit to stare at Stan through his eyelashes.

When Rick spoke again, he did so in a rapid rush, words tied to his sigh. " _I hate myself so fucking much_." Rick whispered on exhale, digging his hands into Stan's sides like handles and pressing his forehead against his hairy chest. 

"God, Rick, I wish you didn't." Stan blurted, cradling his head closer into his sternum. They stayed like that for a moment, Stan's chest rising and falling, Stan's thumb tracing arcs in the soft hairless space behind Rick's ear, both of them keeping their eyes shut. 

Rick's body seized with a hiccup-like sob, he buried his face into Stan's chest and wrapped his arms all the way around. His hands curled into fists, his thumbs digging into Stan's bare back. Stan could feel the way his lips contorted into a painful grimace against his skin, he could feel how warm the tears were that followed and pressed wetness up against his sternum.

Rick's chest convulsed with swallowed-back sobs, and Stan just held him, hugged him close, quiet for now. Rick hiccuped and sniffled hard, Stan tried his best to find a balance between comforting and suffocating. He pulled him further up until Rick's chin fit like a puzzle piece over his shoulder, Rick's arms squeezed him tight.

Stan tried to be careful not to crush him, and the two just breathed together as they hugged, sharing warmth. Stan nudged at Rick's wet cheek, smushing his nose to it and pressing a drawn-out kiss to his cheek. His tears were saline-tasting. Rick adjusted his face to lean further into it, and Stan's next smacking kiss dragged closer to his mouth. 

"Sorry." Rick mumbled, barely getting his words in before Stan was at his lips with his, peppering them softly with small kiss after kiss. Rick waited until Stan had pulled far enough away to drag his hands over his cheeks to try and wipe away the wetness. "Fuck, I'm such a m-m-mess. You--this is why-- _shit!!_ " 

"It's okay. Rick,  _shhh_. It's been a rough past couple of days." Stan imitated the same move Rick had done for him their first time and he gently rubbed his thumb along the length of Rick's bitten lip, an unspoken call to relax. Rick's wet eyes gave away his insecurity, he let his mouth fall open just slightly, screwed his eyes shut and let out an almost frustrated, resigned sigh that said everything about how much he wanted to believe Stan, but couldn't bring himself to. 

"I can't believe I cried. I'm so pathetic, I--"

"Shhhh, Rick, no you're not. It's okay. It's late-" 

"I can't believe--I'm--I-I-I-"

" _Relax,_ " Stan met Rick's lips gently, just to get him to stop berating himself. "I just really wanna take care of you right now. Yeah? Can I do that?" 

Rick brought his hand to his cheek, then snaked it back to pass over his ear, finally the hand's journey stopped to hold the back of Stan's neck and Rick nodded twice in a minuscule way, agreeing, but still unable to bring himself to look at him with his eyes shut tight. 

Stan let his hand wander to Rick's dick again, and he smeared a bit of the precum that drooled out of it to make his strokes a little smoother. He felt embarrassed, and gave Rick a few strokes in silence. Was he supposed to keep talking? What else was he supposed to say? _Crap_ , was it weird to keep jacking him off after he'd just been crying? He wished so badly that he could make Rick feel better, let Rick see himself the way he saw him, if only he knew how amazing he was--

"Stan..." Rick gasped softly, beginning to get a lot more breathy after a few strokes.

"Like that. When you say my name. Whenever we're having sex. Sometimes even when we're not." Stan began hesitantly. "It makes me feel like... like I'm treating you right." Stan tried to find a rhythm to his strokes, sliding his curled hand up and down more quickly now. "I hope I'm treating you right, Rick."

Rick squirmed and moaned softly, his own hand joining Stan's in wrapping around himself. Stan drew in closer, encompassing Rick with his body. They looked into each other's eyes from such a close range, both of them touching hands over Rick's shaft. Their lips met again, catching, opening and closing and smacking softly. They parted, both panting for breath with downcast eyes. Rick canted his hips up into both of their fists and bit down on his bottom lip. 

"Right there. Yeah." Stan whispered. "I can see it on your face. Your pleasure. Seeing you like this--  _damn_. Feels better than anything you could do to me."

Stan brought his face further forward, hoping Rick felt safe with the way he surrounded his body with his. Rick pulled in closer, eyes lowered and nearly bashful, and their lips met again. And just when Stan thought they were going to break it, one of them pushed in again and kept the kiss going. Stan tugged rhythmically on Rick, and loved it when Rick panted and moaned softly into his mouth. 

"I want you to cum for me." Stan broke their long kiss and urged into his ear, the breath that had generated the whisper was a warm caress to Rick's cheek. But it was a performative sentence, stiff, lacking the things that Rick loved to hear Stan say when they got intimate like this.

"And... I'm gonna swallow it this time." His tone was a little uncertain, the nerves were under his words, but also a hint of thrill. Now, that was more like what Rick liked to hear. That was Stan talking, not some pre-packaged porny sentence like before. Stan began to slide backward, dragging his hands back along Rick's thighs in his jeans. 

Rick wriggled backward to give Stan more room and drew his knees up so that they pointed at the ceiling of the car, Stan slipped his hand away to grip Rick's thigh and Rick continued to stroke himself, leaning at the car door at his back. Stan took a moment to position himself, careful to keep all of the weight off of his injured leg before he settled himself into Rick's lap and began to pull down his pants with the quiet rustle of fabric. 

"Babe, you don't have to do this." Rick whispered, cupping his cheek. The back of his throat still sounded slightly rough from tears. Stan's lifted brown eyes made him look even more eager. "I can just get myself off. Your  _leg_ \--"

"Leg's fine." Stan countered in a grunt, flicking his eyes back down, lowering his head, and nosing at Rick's thigh. "It doesn't feel like anything right now." He mumbled before planting a wet, suctiony kiss to Rick's inner thigh. He could still do this. Well, maybe. 

"No, Jesus, you can blow me later. Just--" Rick looped his arm around Stan and pulled upward, willing him to rise. "Here." Rick guided Stan so that he crowded Rick up against the side of the car door, pressed so close together that Rick was halfway sitting in Stan's lap, his ass canted backward and he wrapped his legs around him, calves smushed up against his back, ankles crossed over the back of his pelvis.

Stan nodded in affirmation, the new position was comfortable, yet they were still close enough to kiss. "Good idea," Stan chuckled.

They pressed cheek to cheek, Stan wrapped his big hand around Rick's jutting hipbone. Rick placed his smaller and more slender hand on top of his just after, wrapping just his longer thumb with Stan's short and calloused one.

Rick panted softly, chest rising and falling rapidly, his breath catching in his throat when Stan reached over and touched the back of Rick's hand that was wrapped over his cock. Stan ghosted his fingertips over the lines between Rick's fingers, and Rick answered by opening up his palm, and Stan's fingers slipped and sunk into the gaps. Stan loved the position--he was hugging Rick to him with one arm, it felt perfect and just as close as he wanted to be after seeing Rick upset like that. 

Rick cried out softly, panting even louder now, arching his back into Stan. His noises sounded much louder in the car, the acoustics flattened somehow, and Stan loved how he could hear every breath, every little whine that was almost hidden at the bottom of Rick's throat, the sound of rubbing leather. Stan kissed Rick's jaw and took his earlobe into his mouth as the two of them continued to stroke with their intwined hands. Rick's eyes fluttered and rolled back, and Stan slipped the earlobe out of his mouth with a graze of teeth to make a ticklish whisper into his ear.  "You're close?"

Rick nodded then moaned softly, his back arching just enough to pull away from the door. Stan took over, guiding him closer to release with the last few strokes, tugging and jacking him fast enough to hear a faint, fleshy slapping sound, leaning even closer and pressing Rick against the side of the car and close to him.  Rick tensed, folding his elbow upward under Stan's armpit to grip the meat of his shoulder, resting his face against Stan, and gritted his teeth as he crested. Then he let go of all the tension, sighing loudly in bliss, he let the back of his head knock against the glass window that was fogging with condensation, huffing hard as he rode through the waves of pleasure, his legs quivering around Stan.

Stan surged forward and pressed his lips to his almost possessively, their warm and rapid breaths sounded so loud in the space, hot air lapping each other's faces as Stan let go of his hip and wrapped him up tightly into both of his thick arms.  Rick wound his fingers around the back of Stan's head and pulled him back in when he began to lean back, capturing his parted lips with his, kissing him again and again. They tipped back away from the door, Rick's knees planted on the seat on both sides of Stan's hips, holding himself up with them while he kept Stan in his arms.

"You always sigh." Stan chuckled when they parted but still kept their faces tucked right up against one another, his arms still wound around him. "When you release. It's sorta cute." 

"Nothing about me is "cute" and you damn well know it." Rick nearly snapped in reply. "Cut the crap." 

"You said you think  _I'm_  cute." Stan countered snarkily. "In the mornings. You were blacked out when you told me. You called it gross-cute."

Rick ran his hand down his face in annoyance and groaned. There was no way that Stan could have made that up.

"Well, I don't remember that." Rick grumbled, a pathetic counter and it looked like he knew it.

"Aren't you listening? I already said you were blacked out when you told me." Stan chuckled, planting another lively smooch on him. He ran his large, callous-rough hands over Rick's body under him, he loved to be touching him while small residual shivers of pleasure occasionally shook his thin form. 

"Hmmm. This was nice. I... sort of ... missed you." Stan's low voice rumbled quietly, he took Rick's face into his hand and his thumb dipped into the slight hollow below his cheekbone. " _Ehem._ Good position."

Rick scoffed out snort of a laugh and Stan captured his lips in his again, gently sucking on his lower lip. Rick's arm hooked around his bare back again and held him pressed close, stretching his neck back with a breathy sigh when Stan continued to mouth at his neck with quiet suckles, sucking at the multi-colored hickey that had been renewed and re-renewed several times.

"Didn't you get turned on watching me? Are-are you sure I'm not blue-balling you right now?" Rick squinted at him, ever the skeptic, when Stan pulled away to look at his face again.

"No, not really. I mean--I think it works the best if I'm being touched, then I'll start getting hard. But even seeing you like this-- fucking beautiful sight, by the way--but... no." Stan admitted softly, hanging his head and looking off to the side. He bit down on his teeth, his sharp jaw rippling with his frustration.

"Y'know, that's almost like a super power." Rick teased, slipping his fingers under Stan's whiskery chin so that they could look at each other again. "Do you know how many shitty people had me wrapped around their fingers just because I was thinking with my dick?" 

Stan rolled his eyes and snorted, feeling around in the dark for Rick's light pen. "Heh, don't  _say_  that." Stan couldn't help but chuckle as he reached under the seat, found the pen within Rick's lab coat pocket and pressed the button, cleaning off the two of them with a quick burst of white light like a camera flash.

They cuddled up together, Stan propped his head up in his hand with his elbow over the top of the seat and draped his other arm over Rick, keeping his neck in the crook of his elbow.

"Can I ask you something?" Stan began. "Do you ever exaggerate? I mean, I have no experience with this kind of thing, and you're always--I dunno. You don't have to fake it for me or anything. I know I'm not that good."

"It's not about being good." Rick mumbled. "Trust me, I have some sex toys that are like screwing the freakiest, best porn star in the entire galaxy. It's not--- it's because it's... you."

" _Oh_." It was clear on his face that Stan really hadn't considered that option before. The realization crossed his face, then the emotions that came with that. So, it wasn't about the physical sensation of sex. Not really. 

"Yeah." Rick cleared his throat and said, just to break the short yet heavy silence. He couldn't really put it into words, why he loved Stan's uncertain and fumbly actions so much more than something that could make him come so hard so quickly that he'd see white. "So you don't have to pull stupid shit like trying to suck my dick when you have a cast on your leg." 

Stan chuckled. "Yeah, that probably would have been a bad idea." He rubbed at the back of his head in embarrassment and just shot Rick a toothy grin. "I guess I just got too caught up. I just wanted to do it, y'know. Swallow."

"Plenty of time for that later, my guy." Rick patted his thigh. "I don't usually turn down a good ol' dick-sucking, especially if it's from you. Toothy son of a bitch."

" _Pssshht_." Stan scoffed, mostly in embarrassment. It was sort of funny, though. Another stretch of silence, the two of them leaning up against one another and sharing their warmth. Rick sighed, hugging him closer. 

Stan really wouldn't mind falling asleep just like this.

Suddenly, Rick's eyes widened and he clamped his mouth shut. Stan froze too, in an almost Pavlovian reaction, at the burst of red and blue lights he thought he saw in the corner of his eye. 

"Was that..?" Stan asked in a hushed whisper, and the answer came in the form of a siren's brief whoop and the crunching of gravel as the police cruiser pulled off to the side. 

" _Fuckfuckf_ \--hand me that!" Stan scrambled to pull on his shirt and faded red coat, and Rick hopped over into the back seat. "Just let me--shut up and pretend you're sleeping!" 

"Shit!" Rick pulled on his own shirt and curled up in the backseat, instantly shutting his eyes and lying still in the darkness, Stan could just barely see the shape of him in the minimal light. 

"No peeking. I mean it." Stan similarly sat back into the front seat behind the steering wheel, tipped his head to an angle that he hoped looked somewhat realistic, and snapped his eyes shut. Moments later, the bright white beam of the officer's flashlight scanned through the car. Stan made an exaggerated effort to pretend the beam was what woke him up, blinking, then putting his hand up to shield his face from the light.

"Huh..? Oh." Stan cranked down the window, and was met with the fresh, cold night air. He realized it was pretty steamy on the inside of the car. It smelled like bitter beer and if he was being honest, it sort of still smelled like semen, too. 

"Uh, evening, officer." Stan realized he didn't sound nearly groggy enough, but his heart was hammering away in his chest. The cop was older, greying, a few buttons strained over his bulgy belly in his tan uniform.

"I got some repohrts of a roadside fire." He grumbled, squinting at Stan and then eyeing Rick in the backseat. New York accent, it sounded like. At least from somewhere on the East Coast near there. Okay, Stan could work with this. "Ya happen to know anything about that?"  

"No, I, uh, I'm driving up to  _Ore-gone_ , see, and I started to get a tired behind the wheel, pretty dangerous right? Um. So I pulled over to get a few winks." Stan did his best to match the accent, trying to keep it subtle enough to seem real.

"I didn't ask for your life story, kid. Just 'bout the fire." His watery blue eyes, with impressive bags hanging from them, flicked to Rick in the backseat. The corner of the window was dusted with the last of a thin white film of condensation.

"Oh. Um, no. No, I mean, I was sleeping, didn't know anything about that. And whatever it was, it looks like it's gone out by now, right?" Stan flashed a his teeth in what he hoped was a good-honest-kid smile and propped his elbow up on the rolled-down window. He practiced it enough in front of the mirror, so he knew it would have been at least a little convincing.

He even threw in a one-shouldered shrug in, too, when the cop just blinked blearily back at him.

"Riiight." He finally groaned in more of a sigh than a word, the self-restraint to keep from rolling his eyes was extremely apparent. He seemed to chew on something on the inside of his mouth, and his eyes flicked to Rick again, and he nodded with just a tilt of his head to indicate him. "You two aren't a couple 'a  _queeers_ , are ya?" 

"Uh, no. _Sir_. No. 'Course not." Stan clapped a hand down on the wheel, then wrapped his fingers so hard around it that he heard the faint squeal of the leather. 

"He's just a hitchhiker I picked up a little while back." Stan hiked his thumb behind his shoulder. He knew the more body language, the less it seemed like he was lying. Right?  "Just fell asleep straightaway, must have been walkin' far." Stan cleared his throat, trying to prevent the cop's prying eyes from looking at any more of the interior. They might not have hid any weed as well as they thought they had. 

"You know, I think I'm rested up enough to keep driving. Sorry I couldn't make it to a rest stop, uh, just, better safe than sorry, right?" Stan blabbered on, and the cop finally took a step back from the car when Stan started up the noisy ignition. 

"Be careful of those hitchers." The cop told him, his exhaustion showing clearly on his face. He really hated his job sometimes. "You seem like a good kid. Don't pick up just anybody."

"Thanks, officer. You have a g'night now." Stan touched two fingers to his forehead and swept them out in a sloppy salute. Too much? He didn't care. He was getting the  _hell_  home, and he gritted his teeth as he turned around and yanked and spun the wheel like a pirate captain on stormy seas. He completed the U-turn and eased on the pedal, trying to keep under the speed limit so that officer couldn't have any excuse to talk to them again, they already had one brake light out from when Stan had kicked it out onto the road.

Stan almost forgot that Rick wasn't really asleep when he popped up and hooked his arm over the seat, hiding his chin on the back and resting his nose on the top of the seat. Rick's eyes trained on Stan, and he could feel them burning holes into the back of his head. He waited until he knew they'd left the police car in their dust and then turned around briefly. 

"Fuck." Stan hissed, eyes rapidly switching from the road to Rick's face with his face angled somewhere in between, he was strangling the steering wheel again.The car rumbled under his legs and behind his back. "That could have gone very, very bad for us."

"You could have told him." Rick spoke into the back of the seat, his face only illuminated for a few seconds in the deep yellow glow of the passing streetlamp. "Coulda just said: y-yeah, and what the fuck of it, old man?" 

Stan froze, then turned around just to make sure that Rick was serious. Rick's solemn expression told it all, of course he was dead serious. 

"You're serious. Ha! You're actually fucking  _serious?!_ " Stan's voice rose in octave, he knew he needed to keep it in check so he wouldn't sound so hysterical. He cleared his throat and began again. "Why do you think he asked that shit in the first place? He could have--" 

"Could've what?" Rick spat. "Nothing. That's what. Did you forget that I'm a  _motherfucking genius inventor_  for a second? I-If he tried shit, I could kill him before he could even blink. You think he's a threat? Come  _onn,_ Stan!" Rick thumped at the seat with his fist.

"Oh, so we'll just go around killing cops now?" Stan shot back. "What the hell, Rick! I was just talking us out of a ticket! I had to say anything I could! I fucking faked a New York accent, for God's sake! And this car's missing a tail light, which I kicked out, we  _stole_  it, and before we stole it, it belonged to the people who kidnapped me--you think these plates have a clean record?  _Ha!_ "

Rick didn't answer, only shot him a cold glare and crossed his arms. Then, he scrambled back into the seat and rolled down the window, rapidly churning the crank with gusto. He stuck his head out the window into the wind rushing past, it ruffled and rippled his bluish hair and made the longer pieces sway and whip. His roots were growing in dark brown again from neglecting his routine, he hadn't exactly had the time to dye it lately.

"I'M  _GAY!!_ " Rick screamed into the dark trees whipping past. "Hear that, asshole? I LIKE FUCKING MEN. "

"Rick, you're gonna fall out." Stan was mostly joking, but something deep in his stomach stirred. He knew all too well what happened when you got out of a car at this speed. Obviously, as if the bone-deep aching in his leg wasn't enough proof. Rick shot him another look, in his usual mischievous way, but it was mixed this time by how pissed off he was. He climbed even further out of the window, heaving his torso out and he reached up to grip onto the top of the car. Stan couldn't help but gasp when he realized what he was doing. The wind whipped and rippled his t-shirt around his narrow chest this time, too. 

"Shit-- RICK! " Stan yelped, eyeing him in the rear view and trying to hyperfocus on the road, if he hit a dip or pothole Rick would surely get hurt. 

"I TAKE IT UP THE ASS!" Rick screamed, tipping back with the force of the wind, it brushed his hair back away from his face and whipped it around his ears. He was smiling wide now, throwing one twiggy arm out triumphantly. "I LOVE COCK, OFFICER!"

"Rick! Please get back in the car." Stan slowed down, easing down on the brake so it wouldn't be sudden enough to throw Rick out of the car.

"You're really slowing down? Stick in the mud." Rick seemed to think he mumbled, but his voice was coming out much louder after the roar of wind in his ears. Rick reluctantly climbed back in through the window, laughing to himself, and Stan switched over to the gas pedal once again with his casted foot. 

"No, you shouldn't be driving with that thing. Pull over." Rick pointed ahead and ticked his finger to the side, and Stan swung off to the side of the road and killed the engine. Rick climbed out and shut the door, and sauntered up to Stan.

Stan met his eyes, still with his hands on the wheel.

"Evenin', officer." Stan joked weakly.

Rick leaned into the open window, folding his elbows along the edge of the opening for the window. He scowled. "We shoulda killed that guy just by the way he said 'queer'."

" _Eaasy_ , Rick." Stan growled, reluctantly letting go of the steering wheel. If he didn't know Rick as well as he did, he probably would have brushed that off as a dark joke. "Come on, let's go home." 

Rick wrapped his hand around the handle and opened the door up from the inside, and then climbed in, bumping his hip along Stan's to help him slide across to the passenger's seat. Stan grabbed the other handle and used it to help him pull himself over, and Rick slammed the door again. Stan tried not to jump at the familiar sound this time. Rick twisted the key into the ignition and the car coughed awake again, and he pulled back onto the road. A moment stretched between them in silence, both just staring straight ahead. Stan finally sighed and fumbled around for his pack of cigarettes, lighting up and sighing out the smoke, the red and orange from the tip burning bright in the dark. 

"I wouldn't give up what I got with you for anything. Okay?" Stan said, his voice meek, his tongue peeked out between his lips and passed over them before he stuck the cigarette between them once again. He breathed some in, then passed it over to Rick. Rick plucked it up and let it hang out of his mouth, unsure what to say.

"What was your name for this hunk of junk, anyway?" Stan slid closer, took the cigarette back from between Rick's teeth.

Rick pursed his lips and aimed the plume of smoke out of the small opening at the top of the window, flashing Stan his jaw and under his chin. "The... Stanmobile." Rick admitted, clearly not too enthusiastic. "Dammit! That sounded way cooler in my head."

"No, I like it." Stan grinned, bumping him playfully with his knuckles. "I'll make those plates. I could forge them pretty much to the tee, I was staring at plates for hours every day when my job was to stamp 'em out in, uh, prison. Well, the  _first_  one I was in."

"Heh," The corners of Rick's lips twitched upward, and then stayed there as he watched the road. He gripped the wheel a little tighter, too. "Hah. Ha-ha _ha_." 

Stan joined in his laughter, sliding closer and wrapping their arms together so that they linked at the elbows. That body warmth felt good. When the two had finished with their late-night, almost manic giggles over almost nothing, Stan leaned closer to Rick and pressed a kiss his shoulder. 

"Mind if I..?" He grumbled into the cotton in his shirt. Rick didn't answer verbally, just reached out to find his hand and slipped his slender fingers past his knuckles and into the gaps, squeezing in a gentle pulse. Stan exhaustedly rested the side of his face on Rick's shoulder.

"I'm sorry I cried." Rick sighed deeply. "You pr-probably think I'm crazy." 

"I already know you're crazy." Stan's words sounded slightly muffled by the way his cheek was squished against Rick's shoulder. He squeezed Rick's smaller hand in his again, and tilted his head to press a kiss over his shirt again. "It keeps things interesting." 

Rick scoffed, and even though Stan's eyes were closed he could already picture in his mind the pouty expression he must have been wearing.

"Look," Stan continued softly, genuine this time. "How long have you gone without sleep?" 

"Three days," Rick answered. "Uhhh... I  _think_." 

"So, that settles it." Stan snuggled his face into the crook of Rick's neck. "You can't get rid of me that easily, pal."

"Heh. I guess not." Rick mused, and Stan settled his face on the shelf of his shoulder, their hands still intertwined and resting on his thigh, and slept.

*   *   *

When they pulled into the parking spot in front of the apartment door on ground level, another Rick was standing outside with his shoulder leaning to the doorframe, two crutches held loosely under one of his arms. He was smoking a cigarette, looking unfazed as the car pulled up and shuddered off, only tracing them with his eyes. The shitty florescent lights above carved out hollows in both cheeks, and his eyes were purpled from lack of sleep.

"Which Rick is--" Stan began groggily, but the question was answered when a pink bubble grew out from his mouth, opaque, bursting and sending a spherical puff of smoke into the air as it popped. "Oh." Stan huffed, a single laugh making his shoulders jump. Bubblegum Rick sauntered up to the car, thrusting the crutches out to Stan when he wrenched his door open with a squeal. 

"Uh. Thanks?" Stan accepted them before he got out, then jammed them under his armpits and stood up, testing how they held up his weight. Of course, he didn't have to make a single adjustment to the height. They were perfect for him. 

"Where'd you get those, Bubblegum?" Rick asked, slamming his own door shut and spinning the jingly key ring around on his pointer finger. One of the keys still appeared to have crusted blood on part of it. Bubblegum just shrugged, taking another long drag from his cigarette. 

"Found 'em." He all but grunted, and then slammed Stan's door for him. 

Rick and Stan both stared blankly at him, wondering what the hell he could possibly want from the two of them. 

"So, what were you doing waiting outside at this time of night?" Rick nearly laughed. "We both know it would have been easier to just make the portal coords hit inside." 

Bubblegum simply shrugged. "Old school feels... I dunno. It's good sometimes, to wait on something. You know what I mean." 

"Why are you here?" Stan asked instead, trying out the crutches and making his first tentative push forward. They hit the ground with a soft clacking noise. "Council stuff?" 

" _Nooope_." Bubblegum looked like he'd just bit into a lemon, and shoved his fists into the pockets of his jeans. He shrugged. "I just wanted a good screw." 

Rick sauntered over and cupped Bubblegum's cheek into a playful double-slap, then pointed the way to their door. "Then come on inside then, "old school". How long were you waiting out here for, anyway?"

Bubblegum refused to answer, just puffed out more smoke out of his nostrils and followed Rick inside.

"Yeah, no, don't wait up for me!" Stan yelled sarcastically as the door began to close on him and he struggled to keep up on his crutches. He rolled his eyes when Rick caught the closing door and opened it for him, Stan gave him a glare as he struggled to make his way inside. Bubblegum seemed impatient, looking at the two of them but his body language of being partially angled toward Rick's bed showed how eager he was to get started. 

Something unpleasant twisted in Stan's gut. The last time he'd felt this feeling was with Unity. Bubblegum was dangerous, affiliated with the Council, Mustache was in his triad, for Pete's sake! He could rat Rick out in a second, he could--

_Oh,_  Stan realized. Maybe this wasn't about Rick's safety, well-being, or anything like that. Maybe Stan was just jealous. He didn't like the thought of the two Ricks being together, well, if he was being honest with himself, without him. 

"Relax, BG, damn." Rick waved vaguely at their couch and then rooted around in the cabinets for some alcohol. "Sit your ass down."

Stan and Bubblegum sat together on the couch, with quite a bit of distance in between the two of them. They side-eyed each other, silent and holding their shoulders stiffly. 

"Uh, thanks for the crutches. And for helping out with killing those guys." Stan tried to break the ice, blinking stickily. He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. This Rick seemed even more hardened than his own, even more emotionally numb at the moment. 

"Wh-whatever." Bubblegum mumbled, tapping and drumming impatiently on the table until the bottle appeared in front of him, and he took a deep swig. Rick wedged himself in the space between the two of them and flopped down, both Ricks looking eerily similar as they both tilted back bottles at the same angle, then stopped glugging at the same time, to wipe the backs of their mouths in perfect synchronization.

_Creepy,_  Stan found himself thinking, and this was coming from an identical twin. It must have looked even weirder when they had sex.

"We- _urrerpp_ -ell, are we gonna do this or not?" Bubblegum urged, already digging in his pockets and producing an unlabeled orange pill bottle. Of course, the original packaging with Rick in a candy striper uniform and his finger guns was too tacky for most Ricks. He popped it open and shook some very familiar, deep green oblong pills into the palm of his hand, eyes alight, looking at the pills in a certain fond way.

Stan stiffened, barely masking his sharp intake of breath.

"Do you take those pills, BG?" Rick asked with a raised eyebrow, and Stan had to look away, out the window, even though it was almost pitch black and he couldn't see much out of it anyway. 

He wished he and Rick could have talked about what happened. Everything about it had felt so _wrong_. But, it felt like the issue had easily been swept far, far underneath the metaphorical rug by now. 

"Oh, hell yeah." Bubblegum shrugged and sank further into the couch. A slight puff of smoke came out when he burped, even though he'd ground out his cig at the door. "The whole council thing, y'know, I mean, I know they do some fu-fucked up shit, but at the end of the day, we take care of our own. Those pills make me horny as hell and ready to fuck anything that moves. Me 'n Mirror used to take them at the same time and then screw each other's brains out." 

Bubblegum Rick was eyeing his alternate self with an undertone of lust, and he crawled on his hand and knees on the couch to encompass Rick. He held the pills up to him, and Rick's eyes flicked nervously to them. 

"I promise they're safe." Bubblegum shook his orange bottle and the pills rattled around inside. "No tracking, nanobots, mind control, wh-whatever. Just a pain pill with a little bit of a kick, tailor-made for us Ricks. Personalized medicine, down to the brainwave. We know what we like, how to keep us feeling good." 

Rick looked to Stan, nervous, his question unspoken. Stan's eyes scanned from familiar face to face, then he nodded his head just once. 

"He's not lying." Stan affirmed. 

"My headaches..." Rick moaned, his eyes never leaving the pills perched inches from his face.  His expression was pained with want.  

"B-but I can't get addicted to this stuff." Rick clearly longed for them, when he spoke his eyes were trained on the pills, not on the face of his double. "And I hate dealing with withdrawal." 

"So does every Rick." Bubblegum tapped on the bottle again, a soft smirk growing on his face. "What if one gets stranded? Arrested? I'm telling you." He raised an eyebrow. "How about it, Rogue. Let's go for a nice romp together."

Bubblegum placed three pills in Rick's palm and took three in his.

" _Three?_ " Rick asked quietly, shocked, his eyes flicking once again to Stanley at the other end of the couch. Stan couldn't remember a time when he seemed this nervous, this dependent on what Stan thought.

"Duh. It said on the label that three is the regular dose? You have to start thinking like a  _Rick_ , here, Rogue. We'd feel weird taking just one of anything, right?"

Rick shook his head. He should have known himself better, it would feel unnatural to knock back a single pill like some kind of pansy.

"Come on. You've been dealing with some shit lately. That pain on top isn't helping, is it?" 

"If you're selling me out right now, BG, I'll--"

Bubblegum shook his head, his eyes trained into Rick's. It seemed so shady, but--

"He's... still not lying." Stan offered up helpfully, and took one of the bottles on the table and knocked back a drink for himself, too. What happened to Rick saying the pills were 'bad news' a few hours ago? Didn't Rick see that when he'd fed one to Stan, it sort of left him rattled? Stan swallowed a few more burning mouthfuls. 

"Let's take the edge off, here, Ricky-ticky, let's get stiiicky." Bubblegum smirked. He hiked his thumb over to the end of the couch. "And Stanley can watch, too. If he wants."

"This is so fucking weird," Rick just stared at the pills for a moment. It didn't matter what the repercussions were; he'd done it to Stan first. So he needed to put it into himself, almost as a punishment. He hoped, somehow, that Stan might understand that he _had_ to do this to himself now.  He met Stan's gaze, somehow trying to communicate that without words. 

"I'm not stopping you." Stan said flatly.

Rick curled his fingers around the pills in his palm with finality, his mind made up. "Fine."

Bubblegum looped his arm under Rick's, and the two fed one another the pills through crossed arms hooked at the elbow, both dry swallowing with ease.

Rick felt the high almost immediately, as close to happiness a chemical could get. He felt warm inside, with a content feeling snuggling up into his stomach that he hadn't had the luxury of feeling in a while. Bubblegum's pupils had already stretched to be very large and dark, and Rick knew he looked the same way. His counterpart grinned and dragged his fingers along Rick's stomach: it was sensitive, electric, like the touch would have left a mark in its wake because of the way he felt it long after. 

" _Ooooh_ , different than I thought." Rick whispered, curling into Bubblegum's lap like a snuggly cat. The muscles constantly clamped with anxiety began to loosen, Rick sighed and let the pills melt away the tension. It was a lazy afternoon, slipping into a bath, his mother tucking him into bed and kissing his hair when his dad was away, playing guitar and nailing every note, a patch of sunlight, Stan's kind touch--

Wait, that actually  _was_  Stan's touch. Rick found himself draped over his alternate and Stan at the same time, and Stan had reached out and was combing his fingers through his hair, stroking his forehead and face. The touches lingered, buzzed. Stan spread his fingers and Rick leaned his cheek into his hand, a dopey smile plastered on his face. He remembered what Stan had said earlier about seeing his pleasure, and Rick knew he wasn't lying by the satisfied look deep in his eyes.

"Feels good?" Stan asked quietly, swiping his thumb over Rick's cheekbone. 

"God yesss," Rick hissed, and Stan's lip quirked into a smile when he arched over the two of them like a stretching cat. 

"Yeah," Stan said, stroking him again and dragging his nails lightly across his scalp. "I can see it."

"Just you wait." Bubblegum stroked Rick's hair too, languid all the same. "This stuff rushes up on you like a fuckin' tornado."

Stan knew all too well what he meant by that. He could pinpoint the second that it began to build within the two of them, just like it had done for him. The two Ricks almost became manic, grabbing at each other in silent desperation, eyes wild and rolling. The couch wasn't the most ideal place to be doing this, but it was already happening too fast to relocate to a bed. 

Stan found himself at the very bottom, pinned down by the weights of two Ricks. His own laid on top of him, chest-to-chest, and Stan wound one arm around his waist. Rick smiled and looked into his eyes with his huge pupils. Then, his expression fell into bliss at the initial waves of pill-induced ecstasy and he groaned softly, his cheek pressed to Stan's upper chest just below his chin. Stan steadied his lolling head with a hand on the curve on the back of his skull, some of Rick's thick and messy hairs poking up between his fingers. Even though he wasn't sure about Rick taking the pills at first, Stan realized couldn't get enough of seeing him like this. 

Stan could feel the way that Rick spread his legs wider around him, and could tell the moment that Bubblegum sank into him, accompanied by his quiet grunt of pleasure. Stan closed his eyes and felt the weight of second-hand thrusts rock him further into the couch cushions, he just held his own Rick close in his arms. And damn, he liked to see Rick enjoying himself so much, being this close to him and watching as an experienced someone else did all the work and fucked the living daylights out of him. 

_This is weird,_  Stan's brain screamed at him.  _What the hell is going on here?_  

Stan silenced the nagging thought, because  _holy crap_  he was enjoying this. And his life had already strayed far, far from normal, what was another few feet down this wild, weird path?

Two heads of tangled blue Rick-hair were directly in his line of sight above him, Bubblegum tucked his face to the side of Rick's neck as he humped down roughly again and again, all three in the stack pulsed with the strength of them. Rough breathing was the only sound in the room: two breathing patterns from the Ricks in near-perfect sync, and only one from Stan going against the rhythm and sounding out in the silent gaps.

Rick pressed his face to Stan's neck or to his shoulder. He made less contact with his body when Bubblegum wrapped his arm around his waist and lifted it into the air, gaining access to his cock and stroking him hard and fast. Stan shut his eyes and moved his hands to over Rick's sharp shoulder blades.

Stan felt the press of his lips to his in a gentle kiss, it quickly grew in intensity until their tongues tangled and licked across one another, lips catching over and over. When it really started building up Rick pulled away to mouth at his neck, Stan relished the drag of his warm, wet tongue and lips, the nips at his skin, and finally the hard, nearly painful suction of a hickey. 

Stan could tell that it wasn't his Rick who came first because of the twisted groan, deep in his chest. Rick curled his hand around Stan's bicep and squeezed, unspoken.  _Not long now,_ it said.

"C'mon, baby." Stan urged into his ear, dragging his hand up his back. "Cum for me."

Stan could feel the way Rick's body tensed up against his. Sighing Stan's name into his jaw, Rick came in warm spurts onto both of their stomachs.

Rick huffed hard and regained his breath, letting his eyes fall closed and he spread his arms out wide to grab both people into them, smiling around the kisses as Stan pecked at his lips again and again and Bubblegum opted for his whiskery cheek from over his shoulder.

" _Wow_ ," Stan mused in a rough whisper. That was all he managed to say, he couldn't really get his tongue to cooperate with him at the moment. His thoughts weren't much clearer; he just knew that he'd really, really liked this. Seeing Rick come apart like that, all without even having to take his own pants off.

Above him, Rick felt the way his own body felt under his fingertips, secretly imagining this was the way that Stan usually felt him. His fingers explored and dragged down Bubblegum's spine, splayed and rode in the indented valleys in the spaces between his ribs, brushed over the dusting of hair below his navel that thickened into a sparse happy trail. Stan began to doze off as the Ricks silently and lazily dragged their hands over one another, exploring their own bodies in a strange way.

Stan surfaced again at Rick's voice, but he'd been too asleep to understand what he'd said. 

"Hmm?" Stan hummed, struggling to just open his eyes. Rick's face was only inches away from his own, smiling in that small, amused way again. 

"I said, let's get you to bed." Rick's voice was hushed, and he slipped his arms around Stan's chest.

They dragged Stan back into his room, carefully stretching him out on his bed and Rick handled the placement of his casted leg on an elevated pillow. Stan's tired, fumbly arm grabbed for Rick's, pinching at his shirt and pulling.

Rick crouched by the side of his bed, and Stan slipped his hand up his neck, over and past his hair, to cup his cheek again, his sleepy eyes nearly shut as he just looked at him, quietly drank him in, a thin smile on his face. Rick placed his hand on top hesitantly, like he didn't think he deserved it.  Stan was going to work on that.

Both of their hands fell away, and the moment was over. But Rick continued to stare, his shoulders hunched slightly with nerves.

"You look like you wanna ask me somethin'." Stan said sleepily.

"Yeah. Uh.... are you _sure_ you're not straight?" Rick asked. "Two versions of me just fucked right on top of you, but you didn't even, I mean, I felt you under me, you weren't turned on, at all, I..." 

"I've already tried girls, remember?" Stan replied gruffly, wishing he could see more than he could in this darkness. "Girls don't really seem to do the trick for me, either. You... already know I don't know what's wrong with me. " 

"Dammit, I- don't you think I want to touch you too, Stan? Make you feel good? I didn't say anything back in the car, but I don't want this to go one way all the time--" Rick set his mouth in a line. He slid on his bum on the floor and reached out to slide his palm up Stan's arm, sitting cross legged next to the bed. 

"You do make me feel good." Stan said quietly, peeking at him with one eye open and the other smushed to his pillow. "In other ways."

" _Stan..._ " Rick protested.

"Really." Stan mumbled, blinking slowly. "Get some sleep, Rick. We can talk about this more later." Stan whispered, finally settling on his side with a quiet exhale.  Rick got up from his crouch and silently pulled the blanket up, over Stan's jutting shoulder.

Rick went back out to his bed, and laid down on his back with a sigh. It was starting to get lighter out, greyish and murky, it would probably be dawn soon. Bubblegum came back from drinking something in the kitchenette and slipped a thigh between Rick's legs and lay on his belly, while Rick stared at the ceiling on his back. 

Rick absent-mindedly ran his fingers through his mop of hair, both of them with the exact same post-orgasm habits. Rick let his mind wander: he worried about Stan, about what he should say to him. He hated himself for feeding him that dangerous medicine, and for not understanding what it was like to never feel horny, or turned on, or even be attracted to someone in that certain, hot-under-the-collar way. He was _trying_ to get it, but if Stan was non-sexual and didn't even really want it, did that mean...

Was Rick pressuring him? Why had he been so adamant earlier in the car about sucking him off, was it because he felt like he had something to prove? That he could still do these things? What if Rick had moved beyond pressure, shit, what if he was _forcing_ \--

It was a few moments before Rick registered the soft sniffles, which at first just sounding like someone with a runny nose. 

"BG?" Rick asked softly, curling his fingers down past his hair to tilt his head toward him by his cheek. 

He hid his face once he realized that was what Rick was doing, but he was a smidgeon too late. 

"I'm not crying, okay?" He insisted so forcefully that there wasn't any way that could possibly be the truth. 

"Come on. You're embarrassing me. We all know Ricks don't cry after sex." Rick teased. Another lie. 

"Good, cuz I'm  _not_." Bubblegum shot back. 

"Bubbles. Don't make this like I'm pulling teeth. What?" 

"Don't call me Bubbles." He nearly growled, shimmying and getting a little more distance between the two of them. "And I-I, just... I'm scared, okay?" 

Rick shot him a look, prompting him to keep speaking. 

"People aren't meant to do this. Even meeting yourself once in another dimension isn't great. This-- there's nothing good that could come from this. And I'm a part of it." Bubblegum sighed and stared out into the middle distance. 

"I've killed other Ricks, or hunted them down and watched the assassins do it. I'm part of this problem--I wish---I wish I could go back to my fifteenth birthday." He whispered, hanging his head. 

"Don't say that." Rick insisted. The bright bathroom. Being high as hell on multiple drugs that he'd had no idea what the effects would be if they mixed. Brightness. Nausea. The room was spinning. How it felt to bite metal, have his front teeth knock onto the hardness of a gun, and realize that it would be so, so easy, the haze of drugs was debilitating, he could barely even see at that point.

But he'd stopped himself. Somehow. 

Well, ninety-nine percent of them had stopped themselves: it was the first time the deaths of Ricks had ever climbed to a whole number.

"I wish I just could have ended it then, when I was innocent and didn't have blood on my hands like I do now, I'm so j-jealous of the one percent that day. Even if I die now, what I've done..." Bubblegum sat up and curled into his knees, covering his face with his fingers pressed tight together. His voice came out muffled. "You think you feel bad about Mirror? He was--I loved him. So much. And I... _Ffuck_." 

He finally gained his composure enough to take his hands away, and this time his reddened eyes were hollow and devoid of emotion, even though tears spilled down his cheeks. "I want you to kill me." 

"No," Rick growled, resisting the impulse to shove him and he shoved the bed instead, pushing up off of it. " _No_." He repeated, beginning to pace the room.

"I'm ready. I don't want to exist anymore. I- I want it to be over." Bubblegum's eyes traced Rick's movements across the room, his expression sad and child-like, his eyes tinted a painful pink. "You'd do that for me, won't you?"

"If you were as ready as you say you are, you wouldn't be asking someone else to be doing your dirty work!" Rick swiveled and clenched his fists at his sides, his arms shaking. "You think you can help me out with Stan's shit, come over and have a threesome, and then just ask-- _No!_  I won't do it, I thought we were _friends!_ "

"We are," Bubblegum's voice rasped. "So, you'd help a friend out with this, won't you?"

" _Rick_." Rick gritted his teeth, hard.

"We were both there. We both saw it." Bubblegum sniffed, hanging his head and hiccuping. "I didn't even try to stop it. I feel it. I need to die, it's-I'm-it'll be good for us,  _averaged_  us, it'll contribute to it, our evolution, its a different feeling this time, I--!" Bubblegum yelped and interrupted himself when Rick slapped him hard and grabbed him by the cheeks, hard enough for his mouth to pucker.   

"Shut up. Shut  _up!_ " Rick grabbed his shoulders and shook them. "Snap out of it! It's _not_ different this time! And that whole stupid Rickvolution shit-- its just a  _theory!_ A stupid, unproven, out-there theory to try and make us feel special, and you're letting it get to your head-" 

"Do it, Rogue. Please," Bubblegum reached and groped into the pockets in Rick's lab coat, more tears spilling out over his cheeks, his face contorted with pain, the cheek that Rick slapped flushing red in a hand-shaped print. "Please. What if I told you that I'm--I'm in trouble. Yeah, B-Big trouble. That I couldn't get in earlier, because they took my portal gun away? Would you do it if I told you they were going to do it anyway? But I want it under _my_ terms?" 

"You w-want me to kill you? Huh?" Rick asked again, and curled his fingers around his silvery knockout pen. Bubblegum's expression lit up at the action, like Rick held a concealed weapon. Rick slipped it out of his coat, and to his surprise Bubblegum didn't seem to recognize it. His eyes were still wild with anticipation and shiny with joy. Ricks must have had slight variations with their inventions, probably another reason to gather them all together, to share the wealth.

Rick held it outstretched, a frown on his face. In contrast, Bubblegum looked like he was opening the best present he'd ever received.

" **Yes**. Do it." He urged, tapping hard at his skull with his index. "Right through m-my brain. Straight through this  _awful_  fucking brain."

The device blasted out light and Bubblegum flopped back onto the bed, instantly unconscious and deep into REM sleep with darting eyes beneath his lids.

"Sleep." Rick's voice was monotone, his expression lightless as he tucked the pen back into his lab coat pocket, then stripped it off. Rick crawled in beside him, numb, and tried to sleep himself. 

*   *   *

Stan woke up in his bed to Rick sitting backwards on his back. Stan craned his neck to try and see why and squinted in the bright light, but Rick turned his head away by holding his chin.

"What the  _hell_  are you doing." Stan was too grumpy to be woken up the mornings like this. He felt the fabric of his boxers slide down across his ass, exposing it.

" _Hey!_ " Stan yelped. "Rick, is this--is this you? Or, Bubblegum? Or-"

"It's me. But stay.  _Still_." Rick demanded, pinching him with his thighs.

"Why aren't you telling me what you're doing?" Stan snapped, wanting to try and look again but he knew Rick would just make him look away again. 

"Because then you'll be expecting it and your muscles wo-would clench up. So  _relax!_ " Rick pinned him down and squeezed his legs even harder around his torso, his hand curled in a fist around syringe with a very large, hollow needle filled with tube of milky blue solution. No wonder he didn't want Stan to see it, the tube and the needle combined were about as long as Rick's entire forearm. Rick watched the globe of one of Stan's pale butt cheeks with scrutiny, waiting for the perfect moment to jam in the needle. 

"Relax your butt," Rick groaned after the muscles stayed taught. "D-do you need me to stay the fuckin' magic word? Relax it!"

"Great, now I can't!" Stan insisted, trying to look at Rick with one cheek pressed to the pillow he was hugging underneath him. "You shouldn't have told me it was gonna be my butt!" 

"Great. Now I guess I can't do this anymore." Rick began to climb off of Stan, and he saw the muscles in his butt fall and loosen with Stan's relief. Perfect. Rick jammed the needle down and lowered the plunger as fast as he could, and Stan howled. 

"Arrghh! Mot-her  _FUCKERRR_! " Stan twisted the fitted sheets so hard in his fists that he pulled it off the mattress. "What the hell is that shit? Maple syrup?!" 

"I know it's thick, okay, but it's effective!" Rick kneaded at his butt cheek like dough, pinching, tugging, then using his elbow and dragging it in a circle outward from the puncture. "You should be grateful you d-don't have to have a broken leg for as long as a normal guy has to. I'll p-probably saw this off in a few days." 

Stan finally got a look at his face; Rick looked exhausted, nearly manic with it. He smelled strange. 

"You didn't sleep again last night." Stan groaned. "You were cooking up this stuff for me instead.  _Riiick_ , you gotta--"

"I'm fine. Just fine." Rick finally finished pushing around the medicine within Stan's body and gave his ass a stinging, playful slap instead and pulled the boxers right back over the globes of his butt. "Stay still for a couple minutes." 

"You better be taking a nap when I get out there!" Stan called after him, as Rick slipped quickly from the bedroom once again. Stan stuffed his face into his pillow and groaned. Ouch, he could feel the thickness of whatever it was Rick had injected him with underneath the skin. He did as he was told and waited, shallowly snoozing, then grabbed the crutches leaning on the wall and slowly made his way out to the living room.

To his relief, Rick actually was crashed on his bed when he came out. Stan made his way to the desk chair, eased himself down into it and leaned forward just so the pressure wasn't completely on his aching cheek, and just watched Rick sleeping peacefully. He must have filled in his roots last night, too.

Rick stiffened and woke up with a gasp, curling his slender fingers around the sheets. He must have been exhausted to fall asleep that deeply that quickly.

" _Guhhhhh_ ," He moaned, blinking one eye at a time, and Stan knew when he looked at him, with a cold glare. His Rick didn't look at him like that, or at least he hadn't for a very long time, now. 

"Oh." Stan blurted, suddenly embarrassed to have been caught in the act of staring at him sleeping. "You're not mine. Heh, wild night we had last night, huh?" 

Bubblegum stared at him groggily, before his face fell into a painful grimace and he fisted the blankets tightly. "Fuck! _Fuuuuuuck_!" He pressed his face to the mattress and pounded his fist to it in exasperation. "Goddammit! God-fucking-cock-sucking _DAMMIT! THAT FUCKING ASSHOLE!_"  

"Rick knocked you out with that pen of his?" Stan asked. He knew the feeling, it showed all over Bubblegum's face. That getting-hit-with-a-load-of-bricks feeling he knew from when Rick moved himself in. "Well, do you want something to eat? Toast or something?"

"I want to  _die_." Bubblegum griped, melodramatically stuffing the pillow over his face. 

"Toast it is, then." Stan said, unfazed, mistaking his comment for the annoyance of the knockout pen's headaches, and jammed his crutches under his armpits again.

Bubblegum didn't move at all while Stan made him something to eat and gobbled something down himself, he lay in the same exact position with one arm hanging over the side and his face hidden in the crook of his elbow, until Stan came back and poked him with the bottom rubber nub of his crutch. 

"I can't exactly carry shit over to you, princess." He grunted, easing himself down to the chair again and placing his crutches to the side. "You'll have to get up and get it yourself." 

Bubblegum just blinked at him, staring at him moodily, his hair wild around his head. Stan knew that look, that sullen face, the one that meant he didn't want to eat or move or even live.

_Crap,_  Stan realized. He really shouldn't have taken what he'd said earlier as a joke. 

"You're... not okay, are you?" Stan asked, fidgeting from side to side in his seat. If prying things out of his own Rick was hard, this was going to be impossible.

"Why do you care." Bubblegum Rick finally grumbled, straining his eyes to look into his face without having to move his head. "I'm just a random Rick to you." 

"Because you're still  _Rick_." Stan shook his head, insistent. "And I care about him. A lot. So, you still matter to me."

"Yeah, well, my universe doesn't have a Stanley Pines in it. Just like the other eighty-nine percent of us." Bubblegum squinted at him, his tone acidic. "So, you pretty much mean zip to me." 

Stan faltered, not sure what to say. Bubblegum rolled his eyes and looked away, pressing his face into flat of the bed. There was a tense silence, Stan sighed in frustration. 

"I wanted him to kill me. Last night." Bubblegum confessed, muffled, straight into the mattress. He rolled his neck to the side, and looked sourly at Stan again. "But he just knocked me out. Fucking asshole."

"Oh." Stan curled his hands together in his lap. "Uh..." He reached out, hesitant, and placed his hand on Bubblegum's spiny back. Bubblegum met it with a glare, hiding part of his face under his folded arms. Maybe Stan was playing tricks on himself, but he seemed to feel different under his fingertips, even though the two of them looked exactly the same. "Fuck. I'm sorry. I didn't know that."

"Yeah, how could you." Bubblegum grumbled. "Not like you live with and fuck a version of me who's the exact same way." 

"Can you stop being a smartass for one second?" Stan stiffened, he didn't like getting the mouth from this one. Wait, his mouth. He was always chewing gum, right? Maybe he could use that for a distraction. Stan looked at the little square of folded clothes by the bed. Rick must have done that for him after he'd used the device to make him sleep.

"Do you have gum?" Stan asked, reaching over and pulling his lab coat out of the pile. 

"Don't ask stupid questions." Bubblegum shoved his face into the pillow again, and Stan fished it out of his pocket, only after he got poked by something. 

" _Yowch_ ," Stan recoiled and realized it wasn't a poke, but some sort of bite with a ring of miniature teeth marks on the back of his hand. He stuck the wound into his mouth and sucked, then handed Bubblegum the torn-open rectangle of pink chewing gum. 

"Show me some tricks." Stan said, waving vaguely at the pack. "Come on, with like, blowing bubbles and stuff." 

Bubblegum looked from Stan's face to his gum, then peeled off another strip, unwinding and flashing the silvery paper underneath, and opened up the paper around the block of gum. He popped it into his mouth, chewing and smacking. 

Stan had no idea if that was a 'piss-off' stare, or if he was actually going to humor him. 

"This is the Double Bubble." He finally said quietly, he sat back with his hands folded under his head and inflated a large, pink bubble. He pinched the base closed with his lips, did a little more fumbling around with his mouth, and then Stan watched through the thin pink skin as another, smaller bubble grew inside of it. It finally burst, catching on the tip of his nose. He worked his jaw and pulled it back into his mouth. 

"Neato." Stan couldn't help the dumb smile from growing on his face. "Got any more?"

Bubblegum rolled his eyes. "Does the Pope wear a funny hat? Buddy, I'm just getting _started_."

Stan watched quietly for a while as Bubblegum performed, snapping loudly, blowing miniature bubble after bubble until he'd created a whole cluster of them hanging from his mouth, two on top of one another to look like inflated lips, and he'd even managed to hold a quadruple bubble-within-a-bubble for half a second before it all collapsed.

He was inflating a very, very large bubble that had far surpassed the size of his head when Rick strode up and without hesitation poked at it. 

It burst all over Bubblegum's face, and he made a strangled yelping noise in protest, it sounded different with the weight of the gum on his tongue.

"You're awake." Rick deadpanned, pointing with the same finger he used to pop his bubble to the opened hatch to his lab. "You're making the next batch of medicine for Stan's leg."

Bubblegum rolled at his cheek and gathered that last tattered piece of gum and scowled. "I barely know the guy! Why do _I_ have to?"  

"Because I saved your life!" 

"Yeah, Rogue, that was kind of the _exact opposite_ of what I asked you to do!" Bubblegum finally sat up, pressing his hands to his knees and scowling.

"Tough. Get out of my bed." Rick pointed to the hatch again, and to Stan's surprise, Bubblegum actually walked over and into it, grumbling under his breath the whole way. 

"Nice. How'd you get him to do that?" Stan grinned and smoothed down his bed head. 

"Mixing chemicals helps." Rick shrugged, wandering to another part of the room and rummaging around. "Without that chemistry set, let's just say there'd be even less Ricks than there already are. And don't look." 

"Don't look at _what_?" Stan grumbled, but shut his eyes all the same. 

"Just--! Here." 

Stan felt something relatively light press into his arms, he couldn't tell exactly what it was. It felt light enough to be wood, and it felt smooth and polished. 

"Okay. You can look now."

Stan folded his eyes open, and looked down to what sat against his stomach. It was a like a miniature guitar but with fewer strings, with a polished, gorgeous brown color. Lines along the the frets were iridescent, with a shine like opal.  He ran his hand along the sides, sliding his fingers along the dip and back up. 

"It's beautiful." Stan remarked in awe. "Er... you wanna tell me what it is?"

"It's a ukulele. I guess one of those guys who kidnapped you played." Rick sat down on the edge of his bed, his own fierce, shiny electric guitar settled in his lap. "Not like he'll be using it anymore."

Stan smiled and curled his fingers around the neck, subtly trying to imitate the way Rick held the instrument with such familiarity. 

"Since you have a broken leg and you're pretty much house bound and everything, uhhh...." Rick fidgeted with his own instrument, tweaking and spinning to tune it out of habit, and didn't look at Stan. "I thought I'd teach you. This one's a lot easier than guitar. And it sounds all Island-y." 

"I... yeah." Stan's smile split over most of his face. "Yeah! I really want to learn how to use it."

"This means we have to go out and street perform before we cut that cast off. Sympathy money, bay-bee. It's gonna rain down on us." Rick smirked. "Think you can jam out a few notes on repeat at some Bart stations for a couple hours on Sunday?" 

"Yeah. Let's get that sweet, sweet sympathy money." Stan tried an experimental strum, and it sounded kind of terrible. He cocked his head to the side and looked down at the little thing. "Shit, I guess it's broken."

"Heh. That just means it's out of tune." Rick  reached over and took Stan's larger hand in his, guiding it along the strings. "It should sound like this. _My, dog, has, fleas_."

The two fiddled around and tuned it. Stan thought it sounded fine about the third time around, but they didn't stop until Rick's scrutinizing ear was finally satisfied.

"Here. So, the first chord, put your fingers here... and here." 

Stan's fingers felt like sausages and the tips started to hurt pretty quickly, but even just learning a few chords and how it felt to switch them out felt amazing. 

Rick liked to look at him work, the concentrated expression on his face, the way he bit his lips or stuck his tongue out to concentrate.

The two of them strummed together at the same note, Rick on the bed with his sharp electric and Stan next to him with the toy-sized uke. Rick went off and strummed an improvised tune, while Stan stayed on the same chord and played it over and over. 

"Hey, sounds pretty good." Stan remarked in awe, looking down at his hands like he couldn't believe they were what was producing it. Rick stopped playing, just to lean in closer to Stan, and all it took was one look before they'd abandoned the instruments and wrapped each other up within their arms again, kissing, and rolling onto the bed together.

"I'm never gonna learn if you keep distracting me like this," Stan chuckled from under Rick, winding his fingers in his hair. 

"Too bad." Rick grinned and closed the gap between their faces again, they rolled over closer to the wall again.

The next week went by easily enough. Stan started to expect getting a needle to the ass right when he woke up, so Rick needed to find more creative ways to stick it in him when he was relaxed. This included a surprised ambush in the bath, when he was cooking, when he was smoking out on the fire escape, and Stan finally suggested taking some kind of muscle relaxer when Rick 'surprised' him when he was pissing, and none of it made it into the bowl.

Bubblegum hung around most of the time, being a nuisance, but something about it made Rick wonder why he hadn't gone home to his own dimension, and why he seemed to want to mooch off of Stan's protective brainwaves for the time being. He must have been telling some hint of a truth when he talked about being in trouble, and Rick hadn't seen his portal gun in a while. Maybe it really had been confiscated and taken away from him. Rick didn't care much if he hung around, as long as he pulled his weight on brewing up what he'd inject into Stan.

They made almost five hundred dollars playing in train stations that weekend, before Rick finally sawed off the plaster cast only after Stan promised no heavy lifting, and that included lifting Rick. Stan was almost disappointed to have it go because of how real the 'sympathy money' thing proved to be, but that thought quickly left when the two of them were more than drunk on quality champagne, spraying the white bubbles and shaking the fizzle all over themselves, and when they rolled over all their crumpled and dirty bills and coins collected in a guitar case. But the most the two had done on top of it was kiss, in fact the week passed by without much more than another handjob for Rick and some dry humping and grab ass while they made out.

Normal was good, and it was exactly what both of them needed for the time being.

But something not-so-normal happened when Rick had fallen asleep with his head in his arms down in his Lab, his chemistry set bubbling and dripping away next to him.

The Rick Tracker in his pocket screamed suddenly, and Rick woke up with a start and a yelp.

" _Whuaa_ \--" Rick tipped backward in his chair, then pinwheeled his arms and scrambled to grab the edge of the table to steady himself. He swiped his face with his elbow in his lab coat, smearing shiny drool onto his cheek, and shoved his hand deep into his pocket, where the sirens on the machine were whooping at full volume. 

"What the hell is it this time," Rick griped, smoothing down his messy hair with his left hand and looking to the display on the orb-like device. Sirens he'd never even seen before flashed bright red lights into his eyes, and he scowled and shielded his eyes by covering up the lights.

DESCENDANT

If this meant what he thought it meant...

Rick tore up the stairs to his Lab.  "Is yours--?" Rick skidded into the room and practically fell into the wall because of his velocity. Bubblegum held his tracker, which was similarly wailing and casting the red glow of its mini siren to slide across his cheeks and flash into his eyes.

"Yeah. Mine too." Bubblegum did some rapid typing at it. "This is _big_ , Rogue." 

"What is this thing screaming this much about?" Rick shook his, like it might get its incessant wailing to end. " _Shhhh!_ God, that's obnoxious!" 

"Descendant." Bubblegum said simply, his face falling. "This was-- I mean, it was programmed in as a precaution, but none of us actually thought it would be  _possible_."

"Where is she?" Rick barked, pocketing the wailing device. He opened and closed his hands in a nervous flare of fingers to fists, and began to pace. The wailing noise followed him throughout the room.

" _She_?" Bubblegum blinked, taken aback, and looking away from his tracker for a stunned moment. "Who are you talking about?" 

"My... daughter." Rick said, and a sappy, warm feeling curled in the depths of his stomach like a hot tea, or a large swallow of nice whiskey (actually, exactly like the latter). That word felt really nice to say aloud, he realized. 

" _What?!_ " Bubblegum's eyes flew wide and he strode forward to curl his fingers into the lapels on Rick's lab coat. "I really--we-- become dads? How do you know this? Did you meet her? What's she.... what's she like? Is she like  _us?_ " 

Rick reached out and took his alternate's wrists and gently pried them away from his clothing, the two stared at each other with Rick holding Bubblegum's wrists and his hands had gone limp in his. The two stared at each other with their giddiness just bubbling below the surface.

"No, I didn't meet her. I don't know if she's like-- _us_." Rick began, clearing his throat impatiently. "But I traveled through four million, eight hundred and two thousand, five hundred and sixty-four universes before I could settle on this one. So I... learned _things_ from that."

"We need to hide her from the Council, then." Bubblegum suddenly turned very serious, Rick let go of him and his fingers flew over the tracker. Rick barely knew anything about his own borrowed device, and he felt like a child plinking at one note on a toy piano while Bubblegum performed a masterpiece on a Grand. "I'm hacking into and disabling this alarm for other Ricks and erasing the data from all other trackers, and _also_ erasing the fact that I did it." 

"How are you so _good_ at using this thing?!" Rick didn't realized he'd voiced his jealousy aloud. And doing all that hacking and erasing, that could get Bubblegum into a lot of trouble, couldn't it? What had made him go so anti-Council all of the sudden?

"They put us to work when you join the Council." Bubblegum replied, still not looking up as he did more rapid typing. "I was on the team who first developed this thing, you know." He bit his lip and concentrated hard, and then finally sighed in relief.  "I have the coords. W-We need your neutralizer, too."

"He has a _name_ , you know." Rick scowled. 

Stan was backed into a corner, here. He didn't even have a single face card, and the bluff was dragging out for far too long now. Most of the other players believed him, but that didn't mean jack shit if he couldn't back it up. 

He looked down at his lousy hand again, then flicked his eyes back up to the cigar-hazy room. Crap, he could probably only stall for another minute or so. He'd slipped a few poker chips up his sleeves when no one was looking over the course of the game, but it wasn't nearly as many as he wanted.

" _Brawny!_ " Rick burst into the room and provided a good distraction. "Ge-get up and come with me, there's some... some _crazy shit_ going down right now that you g-gotta come help me with!!" Rick grabbed his arm, and Stan fisted a short stack of chips from the table and shoved them into his pocket. Good enough.

"Hey, can't ya see I'm in the middle of a game here?" Stan pretended to be emotionally invested, still tried to keep up the bluff.

"Y-yeah, like you were going to win with your fuckin' three twos." Rick lifted him by the scruff of his collar and Stan pretended to shove him away, strategically knocking Rick's elbow to topple the tallest stack in a noisy, plastic clatter as chips showered the table. He fed his hungry pocket even more. This was like taking candy from a baby. Actually, easier. 

"Get off!" Stan shoved him, dramatically brushing off his clothes and hiked his thumb over his shoulder. "Sorry, fellas. He's, y'know, my boss-- duty calls." 

The two left swiftly, pushing into the dingy bathroom together, past the peeling wood door painted black. Bubblegum's back was to the two of them as he took a piss in the urinal. He said he was going to meet up with them at the site-- until he realized he didn't have his own portal gun anymore.

"Boss, huh?" Rick asked with a sneaky smile and a quirk of an eyebrow. " _Hmmm_. Does your subconscious wanna tell me something?" 

"You wish," Stan replied gruffly, then felt the weight of all the snagged chips in his pocket. "Look, I gotta cash in these chips before they catch on."

"No time for that." Rick shook his head and produced the portal gun from his pocket. "We need your brain to shield us. My daughter. We think--fuck, we think she's here." 

" _Whoa_." Stan's eyes grew wide and he found himself wrapping his hand around Rick's waist, trying to reassure him. Rick's expression broke even more, blinking rapidly, he was clearly nervous. He captured his lower lip in between his teeth, and let out a shuddering sigh. 

" _Don't,_ " Stan warned him. "She's gonna love you. No matter what. You're, I mean, you're her _dad_." 

"If she's even alive." Rick whispered. Bubblegum zipped up and sauntered over to Rick, leaning his elbow to his shoulder. 

"The descendant is alive, I just checked. There's brain activity."

"Then let's go. Now." Stan urged, finding his hand and squeezing it. He realized. "Or do you need to, uh, induce..."

"Yeah." Rick ducked his head. "God _dammit_ , I hate hurting you." 

"You're already hurting me, not letting me cash in these chips." Stan teased. He curled his fingers around Rick's lab coat, trying his best to psych himself up. He closed his eyes and wrinkled his nose, twisting the fabric in his fists. He bounced on the balls of his toes, trying to pretend the twist in his gut wasn't there. "Give me all you got, buddy. Bring it on." 

Swiftly, Rick took off the sheathe on the handle of his portal gun with a gritty scrape to reveal a very sharp blade, the very same one he'd used to cut Unity out of its host body, and took one of Stan's hands.

Stan's face drained of blood when he saw the way light glinted off of the wicked sharpness of the blade and he instinctively jerked his hand away. "Okayy, so, _ummm_ , I might have just changed my miii _iiaaARRRGHHH!!_ " 

Stan couldn't help it. He really freaked out at the sight of the blade, tinged with red, poking up through the middle of his hand like that.

"Take it out, _takeitout!_ " He screeched, yelping again when Rick roughly jerked the blade back out from underneath his palm, droplets of his blood splattering to tiles in the bathroom.

" _Ohgodohgod_ \--I'm gonna pass out." Stan whimpered, curling over the hand and taking it in his other. Red dribbled down to the floor in a few rapid, wet taps. "I'm gonna pass out, Rick. " 

"No, you're not! If you lose consciousness, you're gonna be dead weight, do you understand me?" Rick began to swiftly wind a tan, ace bandage around Stan's jittering hand, slick with red. "So  _hang in there_."

"Motherfucker, this hurts so _bad_ , ah God-" Stan screwed his eyes shut, and felt Rick finish up and fasten the bandage. Rick took his shoulders, squeezing them hard.

"And keep your mouth closed this time, tri-ball." Bubblegum teased.

Stan fell face-first into shallow, warm water, while the Ricks stepped into the water with the spindly grace of a ballerina. Stan looked up to see one of his red-and-white poker chips, wavering and rippling under the water, and then saw a spray of them across the rice paddy they'd found themselves in. 

" _Nooo_...." Stan moaned, touching his pocket to feel that only couple remained. As much as he'd joked, losing money hurt a hell of a lot, too.  "And you _still_ didn't smooth out the ride," Stan wheezed and picked himself up off his stomach, climbing unsteadily to his feet and keeping his pained, pulsating hand tucked to his stomach. Red already stained the bandage like ink, the added water made it run even more. They were somewhere not in America, but at least it was Earth. Everything was covered in green, there were terraced hills and jungles edging the horizon and the sun beat down on their backs.

The two nearly identical Ricks stood side by side, stiff and unmoving as they took it in. 

"Stan?" Rick's voice wavered. "Don't look." 

Too late. Stan couldn't believe the grisliness of what he was seeing, it looked surreal, like something by Dalí. It was a very long, bleeding tube of human-like colors, swirled together tan flesh, bright blood, the deep, purplish-red color of a liver and the greys of brain matter. Red leaked around the tube into the rice paddy around them, the color swaying and rippling along with the water as it slowly spread outward. The wobbled line stretched as far as he could see, in both directions, it must have been miles.

Stan's heart sank. Was this really Rick's daughter's body, mangled in such a strange way? What in the world could have caused it to look like this?

"The descendant is still alive." Bubblegum said, looking at his tracker, and both Rick and Stan sighed in relief. "I'm still getting brain activity. And it looks like the... descendant is _another_  Neutralizer in pain." 

"Right here." Rick splashed a few more feet and pointed out the obvious, the soft curve of a back in a yellow shirt floating above the water, buoyed up by a bubble from a clear plastic substance. It seemed like they were all too distracted by the strange, long stretch of human meat to notice at first. Rick and Bubblegum both crouched down and helped to flip it over. 

"It's just a _kid_." Bubblegum said, astonished. 

"Maybe I was wrong," Rick breathed, as Stan splashed up to him and peered over his shoulder. "Maybe I have a son." 

"What's this thing he's in?" Bubblegum knelt to his knees and pinched at the strange, clear bag-like material that conformed to his body. At the moment the extra air bubbled up in a dome around his head, yet parts of it were pockets of liquid red. He'd still been injured inside of it. 

"It must have been what protected him, from _that_." Rick shuddered and pointed to the line. "Whoever that is. Theirs must have ruptured." 

The Ricks heaved him out of the water, and rivulets of red from within the bag ran down and pooled at the teen's hands and feet. Dark, twisted shapes of metal and green motherboard sat broken within the wounds, tiny white bolts jumping between them.

"Holy shit, he's got machinery in him!" Bubblegum exclaimed, shoving his face even closer to inspect him. "This looks _advanced_. Annnd broken as hell."  

The teen's eyes snapped open, and Rick jumped back, nearly dropping him. Bubblegum let out a soft _'oof!'_ and his knees dipped at the sudden extra weight.

"Let me--" Stan tried to push past Rick to help, but Rick held him back. The machinery looked like it could be dangerous. 

"Hang on. Your leg's still too weak." Rick said, and helped with the weight again.

"We need to get him back." Bubblegum grunted, not very strong and clearly struggling under the weight. "We need to fix this machinery."

The kid's eyes were bright and white against the red on most of his face. They rolled and flitted to Rick's face, and then finally to Stan's.

Stan's breath caught in his throat, his body went rigid the second their eyes met. Their brain wavelengths aligned. The waves and troughs matched up nearly perfectly, unlike anyone either of them had ever met before. They tangled and danced within one another. The sudden flow of information they could both decipher from each other was overwhelming, although it only lasted a split second.

Stan stumbled backwards with a few noisy splashes, his good hand flying to his forehead.

"Stan?!" Rick shook his shoulders, and Stan shook his head rapidly and blinked.  

" _Spaghettification._ " Stan mumbled, his head rolling and his chin pressed to his chest, and Rick took his face in his hand and lifted it up once again. _In a strong non-homogeneous gravitational field, it can be caused by extreme tidal forces that will stretch_ \--

"What did you say?" Rick couldn't keep his hands off of him, pressing his palms here and there, steadying his head, jamming two fingers under his jaw to feel his elevated pulse pounding against them. 

"That's what happened here, to him. Spaghettification. And that body? It's a Rick." Stan dug his fingers into his eyes, forgetting about the muddy water on it, and it made his eyes burn. "I- Jesus, I'll admit I always thought Ma was a phony, but this is... something else, Rick! Maybe she really _was_ psychic, maybe I am too, 'cause I- I understood him! Saw things, he _told_ me--" 

"We're calling it Congruent Wavelength Resonance. For now," Bubblegum interrupted, and shielded his eyes from the scorching sun and scowled at it. "I thought this might happen, when I saw that he's a neutralizer, too. I'm on a research team studying wavelengths with some of the other Ricks." 

"How..." Stan was at a lost for words. "So, I'm not psychic?"  

"No. Look, Neutralizer wavelengths, and Genius wavelengths, are extremely atypical." Bubblegum seemed to shift into a different jargon, like he was back with his all-Rick research team again. He seemed to notice this, and cleared his throat. "When you encounter another one of the same... your brain gets confused. It thinks that the new wavelength is actually yours, so it creates the phenomenon trying to accept it. It can only happen once." 

"Once between two people?" Stan asked. 

"No, once. Ever." He refused to look at the mess that Rick was enraptured by, poking at, mouthing and babbling about noodles and black holes.

"It'll probably never happen to you again. The brain thought a different wavelength was yours, tried to accept it, and now it realized it made a mistake. So, it'll reject if it happens again. We  _think_. If it hasn't happened in a while, maybe you'll get two. But we think that's the maximum for a lifetime." Bubblegum's eyes pinched with worry. "And if you're wondering if you guys are my test subjects, you're not. That team... I don't... exactly work with them. Anymore."

"Good thing it happened now, then, huh?" Stan stared at the kid, no longer afraid by the graphic image. He'd connected with him on some level, so he become something other than a bloody, strange, broken cyborg. Still, he hated the idea of his mind being open to anyone other than himself. There were still things he wanted a big "Keep Out" sign on, even from himself sometimes.

He wondered what it could have been that the kid would have gleaned from him, and it churned his stomach. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for part 2 ;)  
> ["My Isle of Golden Dreams"](https://open.spotify.com/track/041WXF8IHhK1DU7N2zJ9cj?si=vHJWWJAfQA61dvl-HRFHaw) is the song I visualized them to playing together in the subways :)


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flowers for Algernon is nothing but propaganda! Listen, it _is_ possible to have intellect via medicine _wiTHOUT REVERS--_

_March, 1982_

It was hard for Stan to tell at first that it was a dream: it was less visual and more sensation, and because it felt much more like a very distant memory. In a way, it _was_ a memory. It was a simple action: the pushing of a needle through resisting material, until there was a feeling of finality and the passing of the sharp tip through a thin membrane. But the important thing was it meant more than just making a hole, that final push and pop meant something much bigger, it carried an intense weight with the action.

In his memory, it was around the time that Stan had first learned what, exactly, a condom was. He'd found them in his parent's room when he was snooping around, and he was also at the age where the window of opportunity to have another sibling in the family was still open, but closing very quickly. And Stan really, really, _really_ wanted to be an older brother. It was almost an obsession, and one of the main things he thought about most days. Sure, it was cool to have a twin, of course. But to be looked up to? Give advice? Be a protector, mentor— hell, he knew he could do a better job than his parents had done for him. He was still close enough to his own youth that would remember what it was like to be that age, so they could relate to each other better. And he didn't care if it would be a sister or a brother. Either one would be plain awesomein his book. 

 _Older brother._.. he'd been nearly driven crazy with the concept. 

So, he'd taken a needle to every single one of the condoms he could find in the house. It was very visceral, the way that latex resisted, material stretching hard over the tip of the dull needle, and then finally that pop and release as the hole was created. And sure enough, his baby brother Shermy was born into the family not long after that.

In his dream, the needle passed through again and again, white latex, metal needle, pushing and popping. Suddenly, the material was a completely clear and much thicker than latex, and it had transformed into a larger needle with facets, glimmering, flashing bits of rainbow through its fractal prisms...

The material sucked inward and tented toward the diamond needle, it continued to push upward, the hard nub at the top resisting hard. It was a battle between two objects that was nearly motionless, but full of tension. The diamond needle glimmered so beautifully and lethally, like the shine of white fangs or the glint of a knife raised to strike-

And just as it was about to pass through the material, Stan shot up in bed, his body clammy with a layer of sweat. He clutched his blanket and sucked in breaths, swiping at his forehead and swallowing hard.

 _Weird_. Stan tried hard to grasp onto the dream, but in the familiar surroundings of his bedroom it was no longer terrifying, and its sharp details began to rapidly dissipate as easily as a wisp of smoke. Smoke sounded pretty good right now, actually.

Stan sat by the open window near Rick's bed and sucked down a cigarette as fast as he could, blowing out the window and turning on the ceiling fan, even though it clicked and scraped obnoxiously with every rotation. He didn't care about stinking up the place when it was just him and Rick, but if there was a kid in here it was a different story. He didn't want it to smell bad or make him uncomfortable. He'd hated his mom's smoking when he was younger, well, until he picked up the habit himself.

He hadn't thought about poking those holes in his parent's condoms in years. Of course it was a stupid thing to do: what right did he have to do that kind of thing? But, if he hadn't, there would be one less life in the world. He screwed up his face and sucked in deep again. Some older brother he'd turned out to be, right? The kid probably didn't even know he existed now. And worst part of that was, it was probably better that way.

When Stan finished up, he went to the bathroom to take a piss and maybe shave his face, he was getting a little scruffy. He stiffened, taken off guard, when he pushed open the door and a grimy Rick was sleeping curled in the corner of the room. His head rested knocked back on the wall, with his mouth hanging open and his hair a tangled mess. He snored softly, his pokey knees drawn up to his chest, and his arms were crusted with dried blood. His shoes and pants up to his lower calves were caked with cracked mud, he still had his blue latex operating gloves on, and the white surgical mask hung around his neck. Stan figured he must have come in to clean himself off, but he didn't quite make it all the way.

Stan knew it was his Rick because his brown roots had grown in even longer now. He crouched and snapped off the gloves for him, Rick groggily mumbled something incoherent and his head lolled to knock against the wall again. Even partially asleep and with his eyes closed, Stan could tell how worn out he was by the puffiness in arcs under his eyes. Something about the skin color on his face was slightly off, and he looked gaunt with exhaustion. Rick couldn't have looked much worse, but Stan still felt a wave of powerful affection flow through him.

"Alright, Rick, let's get you cleaned up." Stan heaved him up off the floor with a grunt, Rick didn't do much to help and just let himself be dead weight in his arms.

Stan ran the sink and rubbed a warm, sudsy cloth gently up along the length of Rick's arm and scrubbed away the dried garnet smears.

Rick leaned against his chest, resting his face in the crook of his neck, sighing softly. He reeked of blood and body odor, and he still smelled of the mud and water from the rice paddy. Stan planted his other hand in the middle of his chest, pressing him close to him. He had a suspicion that if he didn't hold him like this, his knees would buckle right under him.

"Where is he? Is he okay?" Stan finally asked after the water coming off of Rick began to run clear.

"It's not a he, Stan, that thing is just a robot. It's an _it_. And _it's_ sleeping." Rick answered groggily. 

"He's not a robot Rick, I'd say he's actually a cyborg." Stan mumbled in reply, and when Rick looked at him, somewhat impressed, Stan couldn't help but flush with embarrassment. "My brother used to be really into sci-fi, okay? A cyborg is something that's both human and machine. But a robot that looks like a human is an android." 

"Fine, it's an android, then."

"But his brain is human?" Stan pressed. "That weird, connection,  _thingy_  couldn't have happened if it wasn't. And Bubblegum said there was brain activity from him, that's how you found him. Right?"

Rick scowled deeper and hummed in annoyance. "Stanley....." He growled in warning. "I'm not about to go through a whole 'robots rights movement' or some shit right now. It's an  _it_  and it's not...."

"Is the brain human, Rick?" 

Rick sighed. "Fine. Yeah, the brain is human." He admitted. "But almost all of the skin and organs are synthetic. So I can't heal him with my spray." 

"Hm. And where did Bubblegum go?" 

"I dunno, out to get some drinks or something, we've been operating for...ugh....I dunno. _Hours_." 

"And where is the kid?" Stan repeated. "You and Bubblegum didn't just leave him on the operating table, did you?" 

Rick didn't answer, he just let his puffy eyes fall closed again and let the warm water run over his outstretched hand. 

"Rick?! Did you?" Stan pried him off and held his shoulders outstretched. "Holy shit— he's just a kid! He needs to wake up in a warm bed, not on an operating table with bloody tools... Christ, did you even put some  _clothes_  on him?" 

Rick's eyes drooped closed again in exhaustion, and he wiped at his drool. Stan shook his shoulders, and Rick just offered up an irritable shrug. "Whaaat?" He whined defensively.

Stan groaned, and let Rick's shoulders go. He pawed through his own clothes and grabbed a black T-shirt and a blanket. Stan opened up the fridge, and input the code into the Lab. The door slid open, and Stan began to slowly descend the stairs into the dimly lit room.

He saw him sleeping on the operating table, a nasty stitched up Y pattern on his chest, like when they examined corpses. The other cuts on his arms and one longer gash running the length of his leg had been sewn up expertly in small, tight black stitches. Stan was very gentle as he helped him into the shirt, then he wrapped him up into a blanket. He was glad the shirt was big enough to give that Y-cut some breathing room, just looking at it made Stan cringe.

"Okay. Up we go," Stan mumbled, slipping his arm under the crook of his knees and under his shoulder blades. The kid's head flopped, and Stan repositioned so that it could rest more comfortably on his arm. 

He carried him up the stairs, careful not to jostle him too much. He could feel the strain it put on his still-healing leg bone, but he pushed through it. The kid slept on.

"I'm putting him on my bed." Stan announced to Rick, who was already face-first on his own bed. Rick gave him a thumbs up, and nothing else. 

Stan folded the corner of his blankets away and laid him down as carefully as he could. The kid's head bobbed, listless, and hung at an uncomfortable angle. Stan gently grasped the sides of his face and repositioned it so it wouldn't strain his neck, and folded the blankets back over him. He couldn't help but draw them up to his chin, just like his mom used to do when he was stuck sick in bed. 

Even asleep, the expression on the kid's face was troubled. His eyes rolled rapidly underneath the thin skin of his eyelids and his brown eyebrows kept pinching together before relaxing once again. He was having a nightmare, maybe.

The kid woke up with a loud gasp, and his chest flared in and out with his hyperventilation. His eyes darted around the room and then to Stan's face, his blue eyes were wide with terror. 

"It's okay." Stan put up his hands and remained sitting cross-legged on the floor by the bed, he knew his bulk could scare people sometimes. "How are you feeling?"

"Rrr--rruhh---rrruuhhh--" The kid whimpered, blinking harshly and grimacing. "Riii---"

" _RICK!_ " Stan called over his shoulder. "Get in here! Kid's awake!" 

Stan heard a thump as Rick, presumably, rolled out of bed and fell to the floor. Stan turned to the him again, meeting his terrified eyes. 

"I'm here to help you, okay, kid?" Stan assured him calmly. "No one's gonna hurt you." 

He didn't react, only stared directly into Stan's eyes. Stan thought about maybe trying to put a comforting hand on his shoulder, but the kid's terrified eyes only tracked his movements, so Stan let his hand fall in his lap again. 

"What's your name?" Stan asked softly. "It's fine if you can't talk. Maybe just...try?" 

"Mmmm.....mmmmuhhh...." The kid struggled, blinking rapidly and grimacing in pain. Strangely, he whirred like a piece of machinery. Even though the situation was far from funny, some of the air going over vents sounded similar to the raspy whizz of a kazoo. 

"You're doing good. It's okay." Stan reassured him quietly. "Keep trying. You can do it."

"MMmmm. Mmmohhrrr." The kid struggled, his tongue heavy and drunken in his mouth. He wheezed. "Mmmohhrrt. Mmhorrtt. Heee." 

"Morty?" Stan asked, and the kid finally closed his mouth. "Your name's Morty?" 

He just stared at Stan with the same wide eyes, blinking too often. "Good job, kid." Stan said, touching his shoulder in reassurance. "You're gonna be okay, Morty. I promise."

Rick finally ambled over to Stan, tipping back his flask. Morty jerked away, whimpering loudly. He squeezed his eyes shut, his breathing spiking once again.

"I was waiting for you to get something out of it." Rick said, tipping his head and narrowing his eyes to scrutinize Morty. "It's terrified of me. Don't know why.  I gotta see if what I did worked. I might need to operate again."

As he approached Morty, he shrunk back, animalistic. Tears sprang to his eyes, his nostrils flared as he curled closer to the wall.

"Don't." Stan held Rick back, pressing his spread hand to Rick's chest. "He's scared of you, okay? Just let me handle it."

"Don't be scared." Stan reassured, his voice back to the even, soft tone he'd been using before. "It's hard for you to talk, huh? But can you understand me?" 

Morty's eyes went to Rick, then darted back to Stan. His mouth hung open slightly, and a bit of shiny drool trickled out from it. Finally, with what looked like a lot of effort, he nodded just once. His hands twitched and flared, seemingly not of his own accord.

"Something about its mechanics are still broken." Rick piped up cooly from behind Stan, playing with the whiskers on his chin. "The brain's not damaged. Essentially, it's trapped in a body that's short-circuiting. But yeah, it'll understand us." 

Stan looked to Rick, who looked sour. 

" _Shit_. Looks like I'll have to operate again." Rick sighed, crossing his arms. "I thought I did it, but now it's obvious I missed something. I wouldn't know until it woke up. Keep talking to it. I want to see how well it works." 

Stan shot him a look. "You have to stop calling him an  _it_." Stan hissed, trying to be quiet enough so Morty wouldn't hear him. Rick just suckled sourly on his flask, pretending like he hadn't heard.

"Is Rick your dad?" Stan finally turned and asked, gently rubbing his shoulder again. The tears finally spilled from his eyes, leaving shiny straight trails down his cheeks.

That was it for Stan, and his face crumpled around his frown. "God, kid. I'm so sorry." Stan whispered, he used the edge of the blanket to wipe the tears and a bit of his drool away. Stan turned to Rick instead, who was deep in thought as he observed Morty, still pinching his chin between two fingers. 

"I can't let you put him under the knife again so soon. He needs rest. He needs to recover. I know he's part robot or whatever, but he's part kid too." Stan insisted.

"That's the thing, Stanley. I don't... know its age. Just judging from brain development, I don't really know if its a kid anymore. The body just doesn't age. I me-mean, it's synthetic, how could it? Maybe it was just turned into _this_ that young."

It didn't seem to faze Stan in the least. He crossed his arms stubbornly. "Please, for once in your life, be patient?" 

Rick let out a frustrated sigh. "Fine. I'm just gonna watch for a little while. I need to figure this thing out." 

Morty watched Rick leave the room, tracing his every movement with his eyes. Finally, they rolled back to bore holes into Stan.

"Damn." Stan said and shook his head, mostly at himself. "This— I can't imagine. Being trapped like you are. Morty, I'm so sorry. It would be nice to get that connection thing back right about now, huh? Well, I guess... do  you want to rest? Or try more?" 

" _Tttt_." Morty almost whirred. He blinked rapidly, hands curling into fists and then flaring open once again.

"Okay. Good. You're doing so well." Stan tried to cheer him on. "Do you want to try to answer that question again? Are you Rick's kid?" 

Morty twitched and seized. Stan's crumpled expression of sympathy remained unchanged. 

"MMnnn." Morty grunted, eyes snapping shut. His head jerked to the side. "Nnnn." 

"Okay. So that's a no. But we know you're related to him, because he said his sensor was going nuts. Crap, if I only knew what  _year_  you're from. That would make it easier. You've gotta be from the future, right? With all that tech in ya." Stan sighed. "I know, you're probably just as frustrated as I am. Don't worry. We can do this, together, all right? So, Rick's not your dad. At least we know that."

"Grrruhhh." Morty heaved out his words. He still kept his eyes closed, he curled into a fetal position. Some of his brown hair flopped over his face, into his eyes. "Grruhhhnnn."

Stan, without thinking, reached out and brushed the hair out of his face by pushing it back with his palm. Morty's eyes blinked rapidly, they began to fill with water again. Stan pushed the hair back off of his forehead once again. 

"Your _grandpa_." Stan said softly with realization. "Rick's your grandfather?" 

Again, it seemed to take all of his effort to nod just once. 

"Good!" Stan blurted, overjoyed he was able to figure something out. "Good. You're doing an awesome job, kiddo." 

"Yeah, give it a fuckin' trophy, why don't you?!" Rick called out from the other room. 

*   *   *

Stan couldn't remember, but he thought the last time he'd been off-planet was when he got his glasses from some intergalactic optometrist (try saying that three times fast, right?). Ever since Rick had told him that bug-on-a-log theory, Stan figured it had something to do with being extra cautious that he wouldn't accidentally kill him in space. Well, that, and the last time he'd been portal'd to space a third eyeball had grown out of his head.

At least for now, things looked relatively safe. They were in some kind of dive bar off-planet in a floating space station, at least it had huge windows to display the glittering stars outside.

Stan wanted to enjoy his time spent at the lively bar with the two rowdy versions of the same person, but how Rick's grandson was doing kept on nagging at the back of his mind, he couldn't enjoy himself as much as he wanted to. Even when the clusters of bright stars were twinkling like that just outside the window.

Bubblegum and Rick childishly dueled with the mini plastic swords they'd gotten in their brightly colored mixed drinks, but Stan just sipped on his glass and thought about poor Morty, resting in their apartment hurt and scared and alone in a different time than his own. They didn't even get anyone to hang back and watch him, just left him like some kind of house pet. He tried to push that aside, and just thought about going for a smoke instead. 

Stan just held up his pack and pointed to it, then grouchily dismissed himself from their booth.

Rick's eyes trailed him as he left, and Bubblegum took advantage of the distraction and disarmed his sword with a flick of his wrist. 

"Boyfriend troubles, huh?" Bubblegum rolled his eyes and pushed his soggy cherry around the bottom of his half-full glass with his sword. The bright blue drink made the red color appear a purplish-grey. Rick remembered when he'd felt like that once, when he'd seen Stan and Mirror together what felt like a lifetime ago.

"Yeah, yeah." Rick rolled his eyes right back and snatched up the magenta sword as he passed, swiftly snapped it in half, and let the two halves clatter to the tabletop. 

" _Douche_ ," Bubblegum hissed under his breath, digging around for a lighter, and going to work at heating up the plastic enough to jam the two pieces back together.

Rick caught Stan sparking up in the smoking lounge, in a room draped in colorful fabrics and embroidered plush seats, surrounded by all sorts of creatures using hookahs. Stan leaned against the red wall and cupped his hand. He snorted out the first puff and then breathed in deeply, running his hand through his overgrown brown curls when he saw Rick push through the curtain and come toward him. 

"Fine." Rick's shoulders were high and stiff, and he kept his hands uncomfortably fisted in his pockets. "What's... wrong." He forced out, swaying nervously, clearly using every ounce of restraint to keep from saying anything else.

"You shouldn't call him an _it_." Stan growled. "He's your grandson, for Pete's sake! Why are you treating him like that?" Stan threw his arms out in emphasis, then brought them back in to his chest and took more smoke deep into his lungs, his brows drawn down hard over his eyes. 

"Like what?" Rick dared to ask. By his grim expression and lightless look in his eyes, it looked like he already knew.

"Like you don't care!" Stan threw up his hands in frustration again. "You treat him like a piece of shit! I just want to know _why!_ " 

"Because...because..." Rick sputtered, blinking rapidly. "You know what? Fuck this. I don't have to explain anything to you." Rick swiveled on his foot, and tried to storm out. Stan snatched up his wrist and held him in place. Rick just hung his head, facing away from Stan but not attempting to get out of Stan's grasp with his arm extended out behind him. Stan just waited, holding his burning cigarette between his teeth and curls of smoke leaked upward.

"You really want to know?" Rick grumbled to the floor. He jerked his arm and tugged out of Stan's grasp. "He's been damaged, okay? He was damaged even before he got here." Rick covered his eyes with his hand, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Whoever did this to him... it's going to be hard for him to talk. I don't think he's... _programmed_... to be allowed to say more than a few words, maybe a sentence at a time." 

"Why would someone do that?" Stan looked horrified. 

"I-I-I don't know." Rick stammered, shaking his head in defeat and easing down to one of the huge indigo plush cushions with a sigh. He sank quite deep into it, it looked like it was suited for a much bigger creature than him. It made Rick look extra small. He buried his face into his hands and stooped over, continually shaking his head back and forth. "Maybe someone just wanted him to shut up."

"Rick— don't say something like that!" Stan was taken aback. 

" _What?!"_ Rick snapped. "That's why! That's why, I know that's the _only_ reason why I'd—" He cut himself off.  He was quiet for a long time, bobbing one pole-thin leg in his black pants uncontrollably, until Stan sat down next to him and wound his arm around his neck, the new weight on the cushion tipped the two of them closer together. 

"A future me. That's the only person who could have done something like this. The only person smart enough." Rick's voice was hollow, and he didn't acknowledge the arm draped over him. He just stared forward, his eyelids fluttering low against his cheeks. "But you already knew that. Didn't you?"

"No, Rick. You can't know that. Not for sure." Stan countered him immediately. He squeezed his shoulder in his large hand.  Rick finally looked at him with shiny eyes, not convinced in the slightest. 

To Stan's dismay, Rick shrugged Stan's arm off of him and hugged onto his own arms instead, hunching his back over himself. Stan thought better than to reach for him again.

"Let's just go home." Rick sighed in defeat, hanging his head and turning away so that Stan was left staring at the back of his head. Stan nudged his shoulder and passed him the last half of his cig without a word, and Rick gratefully took it between two slender fingers and smoked it down to a stub without a break.

When they shuffled back to their booth, it was empty, with about half of Bubblegum's electric-blue drink still sitting on the table in its martini glass.

"Where's BG?" Stan asked, bewildered. The glass on the table gave him an uneasy feeling. Rick would never leave a drink unfinished like that, up for grabs for anyone to take in a bar like this. Rick snatched it up and wound up tipping the rest of it back into his mouth.

"He can fend for himself. He's-He's not some in-- _ouRRPH_ -innocent puppy or something. Let's just get out of here." Rick grumbled, burping again and swiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and hiked his thumb over his shoulder. 

"He wouldn't leave a drink unfinished." Stan slid into the booth began to scan the room. "And he doesn't have his portal gun, right? He said it got taken away."

"He probably went to the back rooms in this joint to go screw some alien hooker with lots of tentacles." Rick went ahead and reached across the table to tip back the rest of Stan's remaining brandy, too. "So don't go looking for him unless you want to see something that'll si-seriously make you want to bleach your brain." 

"Why did he get his gun taken away? He didn't tell you, did he?" Stan asked, raising a brow. "All we know is he's in some big trouble. Think it's a coincidence they found him after I got up and left?" 

"Ugh. Wh-Whatever," Rick tipped back into the booth and went to work at something in his mouth, working his jaw open and closed.

Stan strode over to the booth next to them. He cleared his throat and tried to puff out his chest, but the alien that looked like a magnified version of the food crud in the drain of a kitchen sink was kind of grossing him out. He reached out and poked it. His finger sank partway into it, and it was cold and very moist, like a if a sponge had been dropped into curry. 

"Um, excuse me." Stan started, wiping his finger off on the side of his pants. He worked very hard to hide his revulsion when, instead of turning away from the conversation it was having, its eyes phased through its body to stick out of what Stan thought was its back. They popped out like boiling bubbles from a thick stew, a cluster of eight small eyes, ink-black and shiny like an arachnid's. 

"Uhhhhh... did you see where the guy who was here by himself went? He looked exactly like this guy." Stan yanked Rick to his side by his arm. 

"Ahaha! _Voilà!_ " Rick stuck out his tongue, with the cherry stem tied in a tight knot. "Eh? _Eh?_ " 

Okay, so Rick was kind of drunk. Great. Stan  tried to flash a smile, but the creature's dead eyes just bore hard into him. It finally burbled in reply, with each boiling pop of its ochre and yellow skin it revealed brief glimpses as the sludge dripped over a mouth-like seam, flashing a terrifying cavern of ringed teeth inside of its main column. It was like the blender _and_ the food all in one. 

"Oh. Um. Sure. Thanks." Stan stammered, and Rick couldn't help but find himself snorting at the attempt. 

" ꙮ◌❍˚º, uhhhm,◠◯⧲◌ð°❍⧂?" Rick cleared his throat and asked instead. 

All eight of the creature's eyes rolled to look at Stan, then returned to Rick. Stan could feel the sweat accumulating under his armpits and on his back at this point. With a short blurble of finality, the creature's eyes sank back in through its body. 

"Yeah. It told me BG left with another Rick. Said it seemed like they knew each other." Rick groaned and punched into his pocket to get his tracker. "If he didn't screw me as good as he does, you wouldn't catch me _dead_ doing this shit for another Rick. " 

Rick pulled his location up on his screen with minimal difficulty, and toted Stan along to go and find it. Just as Rick said, it led them to the sleazy, backmost part of the floating station. They pushed onward, parting ruby-like beaded curtains into a very long, curving hallway with black walls and red curtains drawn on almost every door. 

A bulbous alien with mostly translucent skin and floating, pumping organs stumbled out of one of the rooms and pushed roughly past the two of them, a low and continuos whine of fear whistling out of lines of holes over both shoulders. 

"Man, what's gotten into _that_ guy." Rick muttered, then come to a stop at one of the rooms. The curtain was still settling from the whistling alien. 

They stood in front of the draped blood-red curtain, identical to the entrances spanning the rest of the hallway. The smell of sex stifled the air, and the cacophony of moans, squishes, and keens in all types of alien languages turned Stan's face a bright red. 

"Well, what did I tell you?" Rick seemed completely unbothered in contrast to the sweating Stan as he pocketed the tracker again. "It says he's right in here. Just let a guy be. Ricks like to screw each other sometimes, but you already knew that." 

Stan thought about the unfinished drink. For some reason, it rubbed him wrong in a way that he couldn't really explain. He took in a gulp of air and tried to find some courage. He reached out and let the curtain rest against the back of his hand. "I don't care. I'm going in anyway." 

Rick scoffed and folded his arms, but at another loud gargle from a nearby room he followed in Stan's footsteps when he pushed past the curtain. He then bumped into Stan's back, he'd frozen in his tracks. 

" _Ohhhh_ , shit."

One Rick pinned the other down, straddling and sitting on him. The coffee table had been overturned, and the bottles that had been on it either lay in pieces or were scattered around the room. A thick wire crushed Bubblegum Rick's windpipe between one hand and one hook, the Rick's other arm was just a nub with a metal extension strapped on. 

Bubblegum kicked and wheezed for air, both hands scratching and struggling against the chokehold, but his face was turning pink, red, purplish. He choked and gagged, his tongue hanging thick in his mouth. Bubblegum's legs kicked and he squirmed under his teammate.

" _How could you?!_ " Amputee Rick demanded through gritted teeth, shoving the wire hard against Bubblegum's throat, and was met with a strained cough-like noise. Bubblegum choked and his eyes rolled upward, his face now a concerning color, his wild, popping eyes flitting to the two men who'd just entered the room. As Amputee turned to look-

There was a zing so fast no one expected it, and Amputee Rick crumpled and fell to the side, a hole in the exact middle of his forehead trickled out red. The bullet had zipped through the wall, and they heard a muffled, gargle of a scream from the next room.

Without a change in expression, Rick lowered his mini gun with a silencer and strode forward. Bubblegum lay limp on his back, his eyes firmly closed as he sucked in desperate breath after breath, still partly pinned under his dead former teammate.

"Alright, gig's up." Rick stood tall over him. "What the fuck did you _do?_ " After a moment without any kind of response, he nudged him with the toe of his shoe. "Talk." 

"I..." Bubblegum croaked, the rasp of his voice cringeworthy. He coughed and wheezed, shouldering the body off of him and clambering up. He hung his head, balancing unsteadily on his hands and knees. "Ki-Killed... Mustache." He managed to say in his gravelly voice.

"You WHAT?!" Rick dropped the gun in disbelief and scrambled to help him stand. A huge, sunny smile stretched across his face. " _Really???!_ " 

Bubblegum breathed in harshly and nodded, fishing around in Amputee's lab coat and finding the portal gun. He brought it to his lips and kissed the glowing green chamber at the top before he pocketed it for himself. He sighed in relief, then helped himself up with the aid of the red-and-gold wall to his back. 

"Yes!!! Ha-HA!" Rick punched his first in the air triumphantly and began to jig, finally bringing his hands to his forehead in disbelief. "Holy shh--He's dead? For real?!" 

Bubblegum hung his head and used one hand along the wall to support himself, then leaned his whole shoulder to it while he skimmed his fingers over the blooming redness in a line over his neck. "Yeah." He coughed, his voice strained, but nowhere near as much as his expression was.

Stan rushed forward to help him. "Here," Stan grunted, taking Bubblegum's arm and looping it around his shoulders. "Just focus on your breathing, okay? Let's getcha out of here." Stan seemed to be the perfect height for Rick to lean on this way. Bubblegum shifted his weight and leaned into him, shutting his eyes and rasping out each breath. 

Rick approached the two of them with a scowl at his alternate."Why the long fucking _faaace_ , BG? Come _on_ , you must have hated that asshole as much as me, right?" Rick firmly grasped at his free shoulder gave him a shake. Bubblegum still avoided his eyes, he looked down at the ground and off to the side. His lips, pressed into a firm frown, began to waver and wobble.

"What the hell?! You can't be telling me you regret it. _God_ , all you fuckin' good-specs, running around acting like you actually have a conscience. And you have the audacity to call yourself a Rick?!" Rick's smile twitched and faded fast, when nothing he said had any affect on his alternate. In that moment, Rick realized. 

"Oh, jeez. Oh, shit." Rick realized, and Bubblegum pulled away from Stan to slide on his back down the wall to rest with his legs propped up at the bottom.

Rick stood rigid. " _Ohhh_ -kay."

"Now do you get—?" Bubblegum shot to him irritably, hugging his knees to him and scowling up at Rick.

"Fine. _Ehhhem_. Now I get it. But I'm just gonna say it, cuz there's not stopping it now so I'm just gonna- _EEEEeeuuuwWWWwwww_." Rick shuddered dramatically.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Stan asked.

"Oh. Uh." Rick punched his fists into his lab coat pockets and awkwardly pivoted one foot.

"Yeah, I figured it was a sexual thing." Stan grunted dismissively. "None of my business."

"What, you mean you didn't tell him?" Bubblegum chuckled darkly from his curled-up ball position. "Heh. That's rich."

"Tell me what?" Stan's eyes slid to Rick.

" _Ha!_ Now this makes me feel better." Bubblegum griped. "You two never know how to deal with anything. It's hilarious."

"Shut up." Rick's shoulders drooped and he firmly wrapped his arms around himself. "Fuck you."

"Tell me _what?_ " Stan repeated, getting antsier now.

The two Ricks seemed to be in the middle of a staring contest, Rick with his arms crossed standing and Bubblegum sitting next to the seam of the wall with his knees tucked up tight. Bubblegum was the first one to smirk. Rick lost and blinked.

"Fucking... fine! Fine, you punk-ass bitch. I'll tell him now, happy, y-you-you gum-chewing loser? Yeah, that shit does wonders for cavities, I hope you get cavities and-and tooth rot, you little snide smiling little d-bag." Rick grabbed Stan by the arm and toted him to the furthest corner of the room, flipping Bubblegum off with his other hand.  

"It's not that big of a deal, okay?" Rick muttered under his breath, drawing close to Stan's ear so that pieces of hair tickled Rick's nose and Rick's breath made Stan shudder a little. "I was _going_ to tell you." 

"You don't have to." Stan looked concerned, and tucked his hand familiarly around Rick's hip. "Look, your business is yours. I get it." 

Rick scowled, looking like he was weighing his options. Finally, he just sighed. "Look. I'm just gonna start by saying I used to be a nerd. Not even in a cute way or anything. Like, just... such a little stuttering skinny-ass dental-work pants-tucked dweeb. Just the shittiest, most annoying kid ever. Ew. Just... _suuuch_ a nerd."

"Okay, okay. I get it." Stan couldn't help but chuckle. He was picturing it all mentally, and Rick knew he was, too. Some redness started to glow in Rick's face.

"And stop imagining it! That's not even what I wanted to say." Rick snapped, still with his hands firmly tucked into his lab coat pockets. He waited for a second, more color spreading across his face. "I... wanted to devote myself to science. I was kind of a shut-in. I wanted to pretend I wasn't going to fall for any of that human crap. Food and sleep and human relationships were for dumb humans, not me." Rick swiped nervously at his mouth with his arm.

"Anyway. I lost my virginity when I was twenty two." Rick began, scowling and pinching the bridge of his nose, his brow crumpling up in many different places. 

" _What?_ Okay, and I lost mine like a month ago, to _you,_ so... your point?"

"Listen. Stan." Rick took Stan's shoulders firmly. He spoke very slowly. "What _else_ did I do when I was twenty two?" 

"Oh." Stan nearly whispered.

"My first time was—" Rick cut himself off and bit down hard on his teeth. He made a soft growl of embarrassed frustration, and finally met Stan's eyes again. "My first time was with _myself_ , all right?"

Stan was rendered speechless. He blinked, his hand stiff around Rick's thin waist. He slipped it away and blinked again, owlishly. "Uhh," Was all he managed to get out for the time being. 

"Mustache was... _blegghhh_ , I guess he was, he and Bubblegum—" Rick waved his hands as if to diffuse the air of what he'd just said. " _Groooss_. You get the idea." 

"Uhh," Stan still hadn't managed to form a coherent thought about this. It was like trying to eat soup broth with a fork. He had no idea what he could say to this. Rick stood there with his arms firmly around himself, he began to rock a little from heel to toe in anticipation. He couldn't take the waiting anymore. 

"Come on, Stan... say something, tell me— fuck, I mean, you must have guessed somewhere deep down, right? That that's how it could have gone down? We didn't want to be virgins anymore, if we did it together then neither of us would be, it was a pretty sweet deal at the time, I mean, I was _such_ an antisocial loser, but I'm- I mean.. fuck,  _Stan_ -" Rick pleaded. "I know. If it seems fucked up, it's because it is. I already know it is."

Stan couldn't help himself. His chest bumped with a suppressed laugh. He clamped his hand over his mouth and nose to try to stop himself, but once that first one was out, he couldn't stop. His laughter pounded at his ribs from the inside, begging to be let out. Stan finally tore his hand away from his mouth and released a belly laugh, he tipped over and pressed his hands to his knees, exploding with laugher.

Bubblegum wound up chuckling too, even though it clearly strained his vocal chords. "Hey, Sanchez, look like you're dating an asshole." He graveled out.

Stan gulped in air and swiped at his eyes, they'd started tearing up, he still was fighting back the side-splitting laughter. 

"Y-Yeah, takes one to know one." Rick grumbled, Stan was still laughing when he pulled him into the portal when security showed up, probably to accuse them of the murder that they'd probably caused in the next room.

*   *   *

It was dim down there, only lit by the faint glows of Rick's tech twinkling green, and the room still smelled like cold soil and cardboard boxes. Since neither of the Ricks wanted to, Stan waited patiently in a chair next to the sleeping Morty in the dim, underground Lab, waiting until after he woke up on the operating table to move him. If things wound up not looking so good, he told Rick he'd go and get him from where he was sleeping upstairs. 

Stan had almost nodded off himself when noticed Morty was waking up again, and pulled him upright and wrapped him in the blanket he'd had sitting in his lap, warmed by body heat and all ready to go. His eyelids fluttered, and Morty tipped forward to rest his forehead on Stan's upper arm. Stan pumped his hand up and down Morty's arm, just trying to get a little more bloodflow going.

"Are you feeling okay, kiddo?" Stan asked, reaching out and helping support his neck. His eyes drooped but stayed open, and his finally looked around the room with a slow scan.

"...Rrrr... Rick..." He half-coughed, half-spoke. Morty fought to keep his eyes open, but the concerning twitches and seizes were gone. Stan sighed in relief. 

"He's upstairs. Let's bring you up there, too." Stan took him cautiously into his arms and lifted him up. Morty leaned into Stan and made it easier for him to carry him.

"Are you feeling better than before?" Stan asked, starting up the steps. "You look like you're feeling better."

Morty nodded, hissing out a few breaths. "Hurts." Morty whispered very softly. Stan's chest hurt all over again when he thought about Rick telling him how he was programmed not to speak too much.

"Okay. We'll getcha some medicine. Hang on." Stan brought him up through the trap door in the floor, and Rick scrambled over. 

"Morty." Rick's tone overflowed with relief, he captured the kid's slightly rounded cheeks in his within his boney hands and thin fingers. "I know your mind isn't trapped in your body anymore. Tell me— who did this to you?"

Morty clammed up and avoided Rick's eyes, his own watering again. 

"He needs pain meds." Stan spoke up hollowly, but still held Morty steadily in his arms. 

"Those can wait. Tell me who made you into this thing, Morty. Put all this tech in you. Tell Grandpa Rick." Rick prompted again, staring and scrutinizing him. His fingers dimpled his cheeks.

Morty simply dissolved into quiet sobs and tucked his face into Stan's shoulder, hiding his face. Stan gently patted his back, scowled at Rick, and pushed past.

"You couldn't have waited until we gave him some painkillers, could you?" Stan accused in a growl.

Stan had turned away, so he didn't notice the way Rick's teeth interlocked in pain as he walked away. Stan tucked Morty into his bed once again, and the cyborg pulled the covers all the way up and cowered under them. 

"Rick! Bring him something, now, please!" Stan cried out to him, huffing in frustration. He turned back to Morty, who was showing all the same signs of pain on his face that Stan was used to seeing on Rick. The way he ground down on his molars, the strain on the muscles in his face, the crumpled brow.

"Are you all right?" Stan finally asked him gently. 

Morty softly sighed, that same quiet kazoo-like whirring behind the breath of air. He nodded, curling his fingers even tighter around the edge of the blanket.

"Okay. Just checking. You just went through a lot. You know, I just had Rick do some surgery on me, too. He used the portal gun on me while my mouth was open and I accidentally swallowed an eyeball parasite." Stan forced a smile and a chuckle. Nothing about that experience was worth smiling about, but maybe it would help distract the kid.

"Hey, wanna see?" He placed his weight back into his arms and got up. "It's pretty cool, I promise." 

Morty's expression remained flat and uninterested, but Stan still opened up his sock drawer and fished out the mason jar. The eyeballs had populated about a quarter of the jar now, and the base was completely covered. Morty moved nothing but his eyes, and his mouth downturned into a tiny frown. Stan handed him the jar. All the eyeballs swiveled to stare at Morty, and he stared right back, both of them boring holes into each other. 

"Cool, right?" Stan tried, with no response. 

" _Okayy_... tough crowd." Stan mumbled mostly to himself, but still leaned over and pointed to one of the eyeballs in the jar. "He took that one, the big green one, out of my eye socket. It's been multiplying ever since. And I didn't even  _believe_  in aliens half a year ago. I had to wear an eyepatch for a week, maybe. Imagine that, haha. Arrgg, right?" 

Morty, uninterested, tipped the jar and watched all of the orbs roll and slide around, and then began to violently shake it up and down. The eyeballs rolled, disoriented and dizzy, and Morty smiled the smallest of smiles. If Stan hadn't seen how he was related to Rick by now, this seemed to seal the deal.

Stan pried the eyeball jar away from him and silently apologized to it. "Get some more rest, kid. This time you don't have to sleep on that hard slab." He placed the jar next to his bed and fondly patted at the top. "These guys right here can _watch_ out for you, eh?" Another attempt shot down. Morty didn't do so much as even twitch his lips into a smile.

"Unless..." Stan rubbed at his chin, thinking. "I think I get it. You're bored, aren't you? Sorry, we don't have a TV or anything. And me and Rick are always hanging out in bars. But there's no one under twenty-one allowed in, sorry." 

Morty's blank stare was really starting to make Stan uncomfortable. Had something gone wrong with the second operation? But he'd been speaking just fine a moment ago. 

"I guess I'll just... leave you alone for now, then." Stan mumbled, feeling pretty disheartened. His jokes hadn't been _that_ terrible, right? Well, at least he thought they were funny. "I left some phone numbers of our usual bars on the fridge if you need us, okay?"   

Morty just turned away from him, facing the wall.  

"We can getcha back to your time, kid." Stan attempted to reassure him, gently patting the shoulder that jutted up. "We can figure it out. It's all going to be okay." 

Of course, he got no response. Stan just left the room and flicked off the lights, and Morty pretended to sleep for about another minute, listening in on the two of them bantering before the front door shut. They left him again, and didn't even give him any medicine to ease the pain. That was fine— Morty had something that would do the trick just fine.

He opened his eyes, crawled out of bed and crouched by the corner of Stan's room. The eyeballs in the jar swiveled and traced his movements. Morty felt for a seam along the wall, tugged it free and revealed Rick's large white bottle of growing pain pills and Bubblegum's orange white-capped pill container, both hidden within the wall. 

He popped open the lid and knocked back five, dry swallowed, and then curled into a tiny ball in the corner of the room. He rested his cheek against the wall and pressed his face into the seam, his breathing bouncing loudly back at him as the pills took effect. He bit down on his teeth and wiped at his sweating, blushy face, just sticking out the stupid aphrodisiac aspect of them and trying his best to ignore it. That wasn't why he was taking them. He couldn't help but palm at his pants a few times, but mainly just kept his knees tucked up hugged tight to his chest. Then, there was that _glorious_ moment.

He could feel his thoughts soaring, pouring in, tumbling over each other and solving one another, like floodgates had been opened. It felt like flawlessly scribbling down a long, complex mathematic proof and finally getting down to the final _x=_.  It was having the word for a crossword pop into your head before even reading the entire question. The _aha_ moment of hearing a complete sentence in a foreign language and knowing exactly what it meant. He felt himself getting smarter, and _this_ was what brought him the most ecstasy of all.

He rode through the last waves of it, panting softly with his eyes screwed shut. His body quivered hard, and he swiped at his face and huffed hard. He turned his attention to the bottle in his hands, shaking and measuring exactly six pills into the palm of his hand in a calm, cool manner. He looked at the double dose, gearing himself up to take them with a soft, excited huff. He curled his hands around them, smiling like he'd found a nugget of gold in a riverbed.

It was _just_ like he'd been told it would feel. Of course, he'd had to do quite a bit of torture to get the information out of the Stan, for his grandfather's ex to finally admit that back in 1982, the Council had started manufacturing medicines with the main goal of pain relief and sexual stimulation, but it had a curious effect on neutralizer brainwaves. And for some reason, the window of time that they were being created was cut short. They'd only been making that particular type of medicine for about a year before it was all shut down completely.

 _That's the only way,_  the Stan (or whatever had remained of the mutilated Stan) had insisted. _To do what you're trying to do... that's the only way I can think of._

Staring fondly down at the pills, Morty cupped his hand to his mouth, tipped his head skyward, and swallowed all of them down. He settled into the corner again, a bright smile splitting his face. His eyes rolled backwards in pleasure and he rested his forehead to the seam in the wall with a small knock, a laugh building up from deep in his diaphragm. Whatever it took. Whatever it took to finally get a leg up on _Rick_. 

*   *   *

They'd been sitting at one of their most frequent bars (most frequent, yes, but they'd be hard pressed to describe the run-down and unclean, smelly place as their _favorite_ ) for almost half an hour, but they hadn't said much at all to one another. Rick just sat with his head in his hands and his elbows propped up on the sticky wood table, his impressive collection of finished brown-glass beers shoved off to the side. He nursed another, tipped it back and burped. 

"You wanna swoop on these new guys who just came in to play pool?" Stan suggested, the silence that had frozen over the two of them made him uncomfortable. Rick's body language wedged more distance between them than usual, and there hadn't been any of the usual brushes of his hands or teasing footsie under the table. They hadn't walked shoulder-to-shoulder on the way over, either, like they usually did. "One of the guys looks like he's wearing a nice watch. Betcha we can get him to take it off and bet with it." 

"-Don't feel like pool right now." Rick mumbled, smearing his hand down his face and letting his lip bounce back. He stuck the opening into his mouth and suckled sourly some more on his beer. 

"We're both kind of bad at this, whole...." Stan hesitated at first, but finally straightened up and curled his hands into nervous fists. "...Relationship thing. I know I am. But you _gotta_ tell me what's bothering you." 

"You really can't guess?" Rick stared at him with one eye, his hand covering up the other side of his face. In the background, the pool balls clacked as the newcomers started a brand new game.

"I..." Stan scoured his brain. He felt terrible about it, but nothing really was popping up. Maybe something to do with Bubblegum hanging around all the time? Was Rick jealous of his alternate and Stan's bettering relationship? No, it didn't seem like Rick hadn't really minded that very much. Or, maybe because he laughed when he told him how he lost his virginity? That was pretty rude of him to do, but no, Rick wasn't that sensitive. He had thicker skin than that. Right? Crap— "I don't know." 

Rick finally turned to look at him, his beer sitting on the table in front of him and he wrapped both hands around it, his elbows jutting out. A long silence stretched over the two of them.

"We haven't fucked in... _weeks_ , Stanley!" Rick threw his arms up in frustration, then folded his arms under him in and planted his face into them.

"Oh," Stan could have smacked himself in the face. _Wow_. It felt like Captain Obvious was shaking his head at him from the corner of the room. "I didn't...um. Really notice." Stan realized that probably wasn't the best thing to say the moment it left his lips.

"You didn't 'really notice'." Rick parroted, waggling his fingers in air quotations and he spoke through his interlocked teeth. "Don't you understand—I think about fucking you _all the time_. It's kind of torture. I only let this draw out this long because— you-y-you really didn't notice?!"

"I already told you that." Stan felt frustration and anger wash over him with a surge of intensity. "I don't know what else you want me to say."

Rick snatched up his bottle again and tipped it all the way back, so the bottom pointed up to the ceiling. He didn't even look at Stan as he chugged it down. He swiped at the back of his mouth and rubbed his eye. "I don't know," Rick shook his propped up head. "You know what, forget it." 

"No, you can't just get off subject like that, Rick. We should... I guess... talk it out." Stan brought his the edge of his glass up to his mouth, and taking another burning mouthful.

"No. I don't want to do that. I'm exhausted, Stan. I'd say things I don't mean." Rick seemed to give up, his energy sinking even lower what felt like right before Stan's eyes, as Rick's posture was droopier than it usually was, his exhaustion and drunkenness double-teaming him. 

"We're supposed to tell each other what's wrong." Stan wanted to reach out and touch Rick, hold onto his arm or wrist, but he didn't want to draw attention to themselves in this place. "Not wait weeks until it bothers you. Fuck, Rick, I get it. I'm closed off too, I know that. But I'm trying to... I don't know. I'm just trying." 

"What do you not understand when I tell you, I don't want to talk about this right now." Rick snapped, and added his beer to the empty collection again. "Not like I just found out that in the future I mutilate my grandson with machinery and limit his words because I'm a _fucking evil person_ , or anything. Fucking Christ Stan, are you blind? You _know_ I just want to get fucked up. So just let me get fucked up."  

Stan suddenly felt like he'd had enough. This was supposed to be fun, to go out and celebrate that Morty's second operation went really well, but Rick had been nothing but a stick in the mud the entire time. Stan stood up with the screech of the wooden legs of his barstool along the floor. Wordlessly, he stormed off, anywhere, he didn't really know where he was going. He just let his legs lead him for now. He might have been looking for an exit out of the back of the bar, he didn't know. He found the men's room instead and dipped inside, took a stall for himself and sat down on the closed lid. It smelled so bad in the restroom, that he found himself limiting his breathing. He just scanned a few of the scribbles of graffiti on the stall walls for a moment. He closed his eyes and tried to let his frustration slip away. 

He couldn't have spent more than ten minutes away from their table, but when Stan came back, Rick was gone. Just his pile of brown bottles and Stan's glass of brandy remained on the table, looking almost sad as they sat their on their own. Stan's hands curled into fists and he seethed, hissing out a breath through his teeth. He wanted to talk about this, not just have Rick run away from the problem like he always did. Stan polished off the rest of his drink with one swallow and shoved his hands into his pockets, making the walk back home by himself. Typical of Rick, always just running away, leaving him by himself all over again.

Rick didn't return for three days, and Stan felt at a loss for what to do with himself. Morty stayed in his bed to sleep, and so Stan moved himself into the living room to crash on Rick's bed. It smelled so much like him that Stan couldn't have any dreams in that bed without Rick in them. He tried cleaning the couch and sleeping there, and that was when he realized that the sheets smelling like him had nothing to do with the dreams. He missed him, bad. 

Stan took Morty to the library, and the kid stockpiled up on all sorts of thick textbooks on science, and engineering, and biology, and mathematics. Stan figured even the grandson of a genius was still a quarter of one, and Morty tore through the books at Stan's desk. He didn't seem to need to eat or drink, and he didn't say much to Stan as he studied quietly. That, or he'd do a bit of chemistry down in Rick's lab. Sometimes, Stan would even forget the kid was there, he was so good at not making himself known.

Stan didn't even see much of Bubblegum, either.

He felt so lost without Rick, but mostly he was just confused. He ran over their last conversation over and over in his head until he had to admit his nit-picky analysis was getting unhealthy. 

Three days became four. Five.

Stan only got a glimpse of a Rick again after six days, when he Bubblegum desperately rooting around in their cabinets with one hand pressed to his head. Stan came out of the bathroom in his boxers, brushing his teeth.

"Bubbagum?" He asked with a mouthful of toothpaste.

" _Shhhh_ ," Bubblegum hissed harshly at him, dismissing him with a wave of his hand as he pushed around some spaghetti packets in their cabinets. "My migrane makes my head feel like it's splitting open. Where the _hell_ are my growing pain pills?" 

"Rick keeps them above the sink. I think." Stan gave up and swallowed the mintyness down. It wasn't the worst thing he'd ever put into his body. 

Bubblegum desperately checked again, but the bottle wasn't there. He growled in frustration and strode up to Stan, poking him hard in his squishy chest. 

"I am in _a lot_ of pain right now." He hissed, jabbing once again for emphasis. "So, you're going to help me find these things."

"Just call one of your Rick buddies to get you more." Stan suggested. "There's infinity of them, right?" 

"Pines." Bubblegum grabbed his shoulders and leveled himself to look into his eyes. This was one instance when he didn't like feeling shorter than Rick. "What about the _'I killed the Rick that took my virginity'_ and _'my only remaining teammate tried to fucking strangle me'_ , or-or oh, yeah, how about,  _'I don't work on my research team anymore',_ or, yeah, this one is really hard to miss,  _'I hacked the entire tracker system to delete really important information from all the other Ricks'_ do you not understand?" 

Stan scowled and stood his ground, folding his thick arms over his chest. "Fair." He had to admit, but that didn't mean he had to be happy about it. Bubblegum had been having problems with the Council recently, meaning he wouldn't be able to easily refill his prescription. He must have been taking the pills from Rick, who was relying on other generic painkillers. 

Bubblegum set his jaw, pain pinching his features, and began to rifle through Stan's room. He only stopped his near rampage when he seemed to spot something in the corner of the room. To Stan's amazement, Bubblegum crouched down and removed part of the wall to reveal the hidden bottles.

"What the hell?" Stan came closer, a bad feeling squirming in his guts already. 

Bubblegum Rick reached in and quickly snatched up the bottle, but he shook it and it made no sound. He swiveled and strode up to Stan and waggled a pill bottle noiselessly. "So, you wanna tell me what happened to these?" 

Stan furrowed his brow and looked at the white Anti Growing Pain pill bottle, taking it from Rick to inspect. "What? They're _gone?_ " 

"Don't play dumb with me." Bubblegum stiffened. "I found them in _your_ room. You've had a grudge against these things since the beginning. Tell me what you did with them: flush them down the toilet? Throw them away? If these chemicals leak into the environment or get into a water source, who the fuck knows what could happen? I don't want to meet a fish swimming around with blue hair and an alcohol problem all the sudden, y'know what I'm saying? So where the fuck are the pills?"

"I didn't touch them. I didn't even know where Rick kept them!" Stan insisted. "There was like, what, almost a hundred in there?"  Stan squinted at him, and tipped his head to the side in confusion. "Wait, don't you have your own of those things?" 

"Mine are all mi-missing, too." Bubblegum gave up standing still and began to pace in a tight loop, pulling and releasing his bottom lip nervously while two fingers drummed on the cap of the empty pill bottle.  

"But if I didn't touch them, and you and Rick didn't either, then... who did?" Stan's voice fell into a quiet hush. His gut was telling him what he didn't want to think was true.

Morty.

Suddenly, he remembered a strange dream again. The one where he'd popped holes into his parents condoms. That hazy, almost-there memory of purposely sabotaging the transparent protective suit, like the one he'd arrived in, with just the tiniest of holes from a diamond needle. That wasn't just a strange image from a dream, it must have been a memory of Morty's that had been transferred over to his mind during the resonance. The thing that had killed the Rick he'd been traveling with.

"Let me see that." Stan wrestled the pill bottle out of Bubblegum's trembling hand. With two hands free, the genius pinched his lips together over and over again with his pinky fingers. Stan opened up the bottle and looked inside, the walls were stained with faint green arcs from the sweating of the missing pills. There was a folded paper note shoved into the underside of the cap.

"Oh shit." Stan reached out to still Bubblegum's aggravated pacing. " _Look_." 

The note said "FUCK YOU". Stan ripped it out of where it had been tucked into the cap and quickly unfolded it with fumbly fingers.

 _You made me into this._ The note began.

_You made one mistake, keeping my brain biological._

_Don't worry, Rick. I won't make the same mistake._

"Where's Rogue." Bubblegum snapped instantly, snatching the note into his hand and shoving him arm into Stan's and linking it so tight it was almost uncomfortable with his pokey elbow bone.

"I--shit, I don't know!" Stan sputtered. "We need to find _Morty_."  

"We need your Rick first." Bubblegum tightened his grip even more. He then rooted around in his pockets for his portal gun, and shot one out directly beneath them. Stan's heart leapt to his throat as they fell in. 

Rick was, innocently enough, just collecting some kind of space berries when Stan tumbled out of the portal and Bubblegum strode forward to grab Rick's arm. Stan coughed and rolled to his side, heaving himself up off of the spongey ground. 

"Yeah, no, I'm great, thanks! Not a rough landing or anything!" He yelled at Bubblegum, then scoffed and climbed to his feet. 

"He took them all. Mine too." Bubblegum solemnly handed Rick the note. "I just need to hone in on Morty's coords. It might be dangerous." 

Rick dropped his bucket, which immediately tipped to the side and the little round pink berries (that were probably not berries, not that Stan wanted to think too much about it) all made a run for it, scurrying like cockroaches and burrowing like sand crabs. Rick seemed to be feeling the same headaches that his alternate was, he screwed up his face and gingerly pressed at his temples. "Not trying to call it too early, here, but this looks _bad_. Let's go."

He then stopped himself, shaking his head violently, coming to his senses. "Waitwait--hold on a minute. No, _not_ 'let's go'!  Isn't this kind of thing why yu-you made this stupid club in the first place? I say the other Ricks can deal with this bullshit. I'm done." Rick squatted to the ground and pulled out a little round creature from where it had burrowed itself, and tossed it into his nasty, stained bucket with a painful sounding thunk.

"If we walk into that, we're getting killed." Rick said, not facing either of them as he skimmed his fingers along the ground and plucked out another creature from the soil. 

Meanwhile, the grandchild's location was a small planet not too far outside of the Milky Way Galaxy. He'd specifically picked this cavern, it created the perfect echo chamber for his electro-magnetic pulser. It was a smooth sphere of black marble all overhead, a natural phenomena, like sitting inside of a huge hollowed-out cue ball, with the exception of just a few jutting black stalagmites that interrupted the perfect spherical curve. True, it was the perfect shape, but bottomline, it was just really, really creepy.   

Morty sat cross-legged on the floor and stared at his pile of Rick corpses. A rudimentary weapon he'd been tinkering away on right under Stan's nose in Rick's lab rested across his lap, with lots of frayed and exposed wires and held together with silver strips of duct tape, but it would work for what he wanted to do. 

Morty continued to tinker with one of the Rick's facial identifying clipboards, he finally wrestled the small grid-creating laser out of the device after some time probing at it with a pair of tweezers. He would find his dimension's Rick, and until then, every other Rick was just getting in his way. He held up the part pinched in the tweezers close to his eye to inspect it: the part had the appearance of an disconnected eyeball, a rounded orb with colorful wires extending out of the back.

With his other hand, he pressed two fingers below his eye and pulled down on his lower eyelid, exposing the whitish waterline, the pocket of pink underneath. A red and blue cord wriggled through and forced themselves out like tiny snakes, they reached and extended out to wrap around the new part, nudging at the copper wires and connecting themselves to it. The red and blue cords dragged the part back in, stopping just when the small camera-like orb wedged into the corner of the teen's eyeball, the black popped in contrast to the white and blue, like a black fly climbing over a corpse's open eye. 

Morty finished shaking the last few pills out of one of the white pill bottles, the one with a candy-striper Rick on the label, and tossed it behind his shoulder. He rooted around in the coats of all the bodies surrounding him, found another, and tipped another hefty mound of deep green, oblong pills into his palm. Without hesitation he cupped his hand over his mouth, crunching noisily and swallowing. 

More gooey lime-green portals opened up, and Morty looked up at them with a hollow expression, huffing hard. The teen smirked, the lines in his teeth rimmed with the unnatural dye. The Ricks all shouldered weapons at him, wavering red dots infesting his chest. When he swiped the back of his hand over his mouth, he left a smear of dark green across his cheek.

"We've invented a lot in forty years." Morty said, his voice strangely soft and detached. He took something out of his lap and held it in his palm, the orb was stuffed with wires of every color, but most of its surface was covered in circular speakers. The device let out a pulse, and all the lights on the Rick's guns flickered and died out. 

"Shit." One of the Ricks blurted, lowering the weapon and hitting it with the butt of his palm. The other Ricks followed suit, desperate and helpless, and Morty's weapon began to charge, a high-pitched whine that built in frequency until it could no longer be heard. 

"E-650 Rick." Morty demanded, holding up his homemade, clunky weapon without difficulty. "Step forward."

His eyes scanned across the group of Ricks, the tiny orb from the clipboard embedded in his eye relaying information directly to his brain. There was V-732, SB-159, の-313... but no sign of the Rick he was looking for, the one who had turned him into this.  Oh, well. They would at least have more pills, more devices for him to strip apart and use. And the more Ricks who died here, meant even more would come to see why, like stupid moths to a flame. _His_ would come. 

He braced himself for the recoil and fired his weapon. The large base unexpectedly blasted out only the thinnest of red lasers, it was so thin it glimmered like a strand of a spider's web, sometimes visible and sometimes not. And while Morty swept the laser to swiftly bisect the newest group of Ricks one after another, he was reminded of using a thin wire to slice through a massive block of grey clay sometime in Elementary school. How could something so small, like that wire, possibly cut a huge chunk of clay like that? If you played some variation of rock, paper, scissors, and one person said 'a wire' and the other said 'a five pound block of clay', it seemed like you'd know who would win. But in practice, it was a different story. Morty was going to show _him_  just what he could do when he was put into practice.

Stan strode up to Rick, who wasn't in great shape. He was covered in filth like he'd been exploring some Amazonian jungle (well, he'd probably been in the off-planet equivalent of that) and smelled like he hadn't taken a shower in a week. Which he hadn't. He looked even more emaciated than usual, too.  

"Hi." Stan said simply, his shoulders high and stiff. 

Rick's eyes scanned over him, and his expression gave away his guilt. He tossed another creature into his bucket with a thunk. He smoothed down his hair and sighed.

"Stanley..." Rick sighed.

"You're always running away." Stan came to him, frowning and keeping his hands shoved in his pockets. "I wanted to talk about it, but I couldn't, because you just _left_. Again."  

"I know." Rick admitted, his conflicted expression had to describe when he drank in Stan's face for the first time in days. "I never should have left. I just— I needed to think. I guess I lost track of time, I just got too caught up in my..." Rick gestured vaguely at the bucket, smeared with all sorts of colors in various stages of dryness. "My work." When he didn't get a look of understanding from Stan, he elaborated. "Um, I was tripping really, _really_ hard on some alien stuff from around here." 

"I was just worried about you." Stan admitted softly, reaching out and taking Rick's upper arm. "I don't feel like... God, you're so much more than just a friend to me, Rick. You mean so much to me." 

Rick hung his head like the words had been a punch to the gut. He drooped forward and Stan wrapped him up into his arms, even though he did smell like heavy body odor and strange plant materials. Rick snuck his arms around Stan's back, the loose hug turned tight.

"You're not mad at me?" Rick asked quietly.

"Maybe a little." Stan pulled Rick in closer too. "But right now? We have wayyy bigger fish to fry."

"Yeah," Rick whispered, and hid his face in Stan's hair. 

"Missed you." Stan said softly into his greasy hair. The brown roots, very dark against the light blue, had grown much too long to overlook now.

"Yeah." Rick replied, hesitating for another second. "I missed you too." Their hug turned into one that swayed very subtly. 

" _Ehem_. Laaaaame." Bubblegum spoke into his fist from nearby. "Come on. Our crazy pill-stealing cyborg grandchild is on the loose, _remember?_ " 

They arrived in the rounded, black cavern with piles of dead Ricks, and Stan reached to hold to Rick, and both Ricks reached out to hold onto Stan at the grisly sight of many, many Ricks sliced into parts.

Only one Rick remained alive, pinned down by Morty. It was a Rick that they both already knew. The one who'd had a hand in the instant cremation device, the one who just seemed really, really mean. The one who said not to waste a bullet on Ricks going into the tarp. 

"I didn't do any of that." Lip Ring insisted, trembling. "I'd _never_ hurt you, M-Marty? No, no, uh, you said, Mor-uh, Morty, right? Yeah, I-I- love my family! You're umm... _so_ smart, haha, you're such a smart, smart kid! Let's give ol' grandpappy a second chance here, what do you say? Bud? "  

"I'm smart," Morty whispered softly to Lip Ring with a soft smile. "Because they're w-w-working." His spit foamed out of him, flecks of tinted-green foam floated down to Lip Ring's face. 

Morty crouched over the trembling Rick, he smiled wildly and he shuddered through a full-body tremor at the effect of the pills. His robotics began to whirr, working overtime. More gooey green holes split open and cast their glow into the dim cavern, and more Ricks piled out.

Morty's body went through another shudder, his back arched and teeth interlocked, and he was already riding through a powerful orgasm, moaning in a way that melted into elated laughter. He was smarter than he'd ever been before.

Lip Ring's terrified eyes searched Morty's face rapidly, meekly putting his hands up as if they could protect him.

"Morty...kiddo...c'mon, uhhhh, grandson, we can talk this out, w-w-we can settle on something—" 

Morty extended just his pointer finger, as if he was going to poke at Lip Ring's cheek. He smiled as the tip of his finger retracted and revealed a sharp blade like a claw. He hooked it into his lip ring, and tore very slowly upward, tearing out the piercing and leaving split, bleeding skin in its wake, he didn't stop there despite Rick's whimpers of pain. He dragged the claw all the way up over his upper lip too, smiling at the blood dribbling down to his chin. He threw the ring away with a clink, then dipped down close enough to Rick's face that it almost looked like he could kiss him. It was odd to see a much larger man cower at a pre-teen, like a small predator taking down much larger prey.

Morty placed one drawn out, upward lick over the new wound over his mouth, leaving behind tinted green saliva. His eyes rolled in pleasure as another wave physically rocked him, he hissed through another orgasm so soon after the first one. His sweaty face was blushing a bright pink.

Morty just grinned wildly again, and tipped back Lip Ring's pills directly into his mouth from the bottle. Morty traced the wound with his finger once again as Lip Ring trembled and shied away, and stuck his finger into his mouth. Then, he knocked the Rick out cold with a calculated punch, and stood up.

His cold blue eyes scanned across all of the Ricks with his finger in his mouth, his gaze finally landed on a wide-eyed Stan. He took his finger out with a pop. His free hand twitched for the vaporizer blaster. 

"Morty." Stan whispered softly, showing his empty palms defensively. His voice echoed in the chamber in a strange way. His terrified expression was pleading with him. "You and Rick have an adaptation that lets small percents of you die across dimensions. I _don't_. So if you do this— please don't do this."

Morty curled his fingers around the hilt, smiled wide, and then leveled his gun at Stan. About one out of every ten of the Ricks in the room stiffened. Morty crept backward, a knowing smirk on his face. Stan brought his hands up, palms exposed.

Well, _shit_. That had backfired big time, because now he'd become a very valuable pawn in Morty's plan.

"Prooobably shouldn't have said that." Stan mumbled, standing stock-still with his hands still up. 

"Really? No, you  _think?!_ " Rick hissed in reply. 

"What are you waiting for? Shoot to kill!" 

"No, don't! Didn't you just hear him? If Stan dies—" 

"Who cares?! Holy shit— _terminate_  him! Before he-"

"Crossing over isn't possible! It's never been done before! Just _wait_ , he'll—"

Morty kept one weapon trained on Stan, then used the other to pick up a discarded portal gun off of the floor. He shot open a portal into the floor. The green pit pulsed softly, and Morty dragged the Rick along the floor like he was taking out a bag of trash. He handled the ambidextrous task with complete ease, another thing that made the corners of his smile climb even higher. Morty clamped down on his teeth and roughly shoved the limp Rick into the new portal, like a rag doll. Rick's hands curled around his own blaster, but he wasn't sure if he'd be able to blast Morty without him getting him first. His reflexes were enhanced by robotics, after all. 

Morty finally tore his haunting eyes away from Stan and the cluster of Ricks and slipped away into the portal, which sucked up and closed immediately. 

All of the Ricks stared slack-jawed at the space the portal had been, and waited for a moment before turning to one another. Immediately, near pandemonium broke out as they all began to make desperate calls on their trackers, the air filled with chatter, mechanical beeps, phones ringing. 

"M-May-Mayday I repeat Mayday , Rick of dimension E-650 aka codename Lip Ring taken hostage, captor with malicious—"

"Yes the abductor is a confirmed descendant. W-we don't know! Yes, we think he's possibly a chrononaut— look, I said  _possibly_! "

" Fu-Fuck! Rainboots Rick, stop calling right now, I already told you you're flooding the damn network!" 

"Everybody  _shut the fuck up_  I'm speaking with Ricktimus-"

Rick crooked his arms around Stan's and tugged him away quickly, huffing with the effort, both of them not saying a word. Rick shot out a portal and the two rushed through it. They ducked into the safety of a familiar alley back home, and the second they were away from the flow on the street  they thumped the other into a tight hug. Stan squeezed Rick so hard he coughed, and Rick's hands twisted around the fabric on the back of his shirt.  

"Okay, okay-" Rick wheezed and coughed again, sucking in a loud breath when Stan loosened his grip. They made just enough space between to look at one another, but they still kept their arms woven around the other's back. Rick saw the shininess in Stan's eyes, the bright line of wetness along his lower eyelids. 

"Don't cry." Rick whispered, his misty eyes rapidly scanning from side to side. " _Don't_ , or I'll start."

"Rick..." Stan's voice came out vulnerable and quiet. Rick hated to hear it like that, he was supposed to be unapologetically loud, with his proud East-Coast-slanted pronunciation, his vocal chords roughened from all the smoke constantly flowing through them. Rick wound his fingers together behind the back of his neck and he brought his forehead to Stan's, they were boney and they knocked together a little less-than-gracefully, but neither of them could bring themselves to care. They breathed from the same air, their chests heaving with panicky breaths. 

"Th-that w-w-was close." Rick shivered, his teeth chattering hard.

"Why didn't he....?" Stan spoke like he'd had the wind knocked out of him. "Why didn't he kill me?" 

"Because you treated him like you did." Rick said softly. "That was all you." 

"But it was my fault he knew about the pills." Stan nearly whimpered. "When we first met, when we had that weird... neutralizer connecting _thing_. How else could he—" 

"He came to this year for one purpose, Stanley. They only started making those things eight months ago. It must have been his only window to use them to make himself smarter. It had to be pr-premeditated."  Rick shuddered.

"But he'll be unstable. He'll have conflict." 

"Not... anymore." Rick's voice shook. "If a normal person took that amount of those pills, they'd overdose. But Morty's body is synthetic, so he survived taking that many. The only organic part about him—" 

"His brain." Stan interjected.

"Yeah. That was the only part that got affected. And when he left quickly like that— he knew he'd be vulnerable while he crossed over from neutralizer waves to... genius waves. He'll be like me. Or your brother. But, I think there would have to be a moment during the crossing over when the line goes flat. Maybe that'll kill him. Fingers crossed." 

"But...how did he know? That he needed to come back to this time, about these pills?" 

"It doesn't matter how he knew. It's over, it's over now." Rick repeated, like a mantra, and the two wound their arms around each other and held on tight for a long time.

Unspoken, Rick wound his arms and legs around Stan at the door of their apartment, and Stan carried him inside with one arm under his ass and the other wound tight around his back. Stan laid him down carefully on his back to his bed without letting go, walking on his knees to perch over Rick. Rick's eyelids drooped in that too-familiar lustful way, he let his hands wander all over him: caressing down his broad chest, sliding up the sides of his waist and finally landing to press to either side of Stan's spine. His shiny eyes met Stan's, eager.

Stan lowered his face to his and kissed him more gently than he ever had before, one hand cupping his cheek and smudging his thumb in arcs. While his lips opened, closed, pursed and sucked Rick's, nice and slow, Rick's hands smoothed down the curve of his back and dragged along his hips, finally ending just below his navel to pick at his belt buckle. Rick's dexterous hands undid it without looking, and with a somehow sensual tug and slide of his belt through the loops, he discarded it on the floor with a quiet jingle.

"You wanna...?" Rick asked. 

"Yeah," Stan whispered huffily, his lips snagged on Rick's when he said it, and he bobbed his head in a nod over and over. " _Yes_. Holy hell, yes." 

He had to put more weight on his legs to undo Rick's button, and even just the brief separation from him made him feel strange. He wanted to be closer, _much_ closer, he couldn't wait until he could be inside of him again, joining their bodies. He remembered the way it looked to go in deep, his entire length pumping inside of Rick's body. Yeah, that was what he needed. As close as possible. 

He unbuttoned, pulled down Rick's zipper, and shimmied the pants off of him as Rick pulled his shirt off himself. Stan tossed the pants off to a lump on the floor, and gripped the band of his white briefs and slid those off, too, and Rick drew up his knees to kick them off. 

They both couldn't stop themselves once they met eyes, even though Rick was the only one naked and Stan was fully clothed. They wrapped each other up again and fell backwards, kissed deeply with the wet sounds of smacks and suckles, both of their eyes closed. Rick's mouth snuck open, and Stan's soon followed suit. Arms firmly wound around each other, they rolled and Stan found himself underneath, breathless. He looked at Rick sitting in his lap as he took his bare thighs in his hands, catching his breath. Rick's fond expression as he looked down at him was hard to describe. 

Rick took the hem of Stan's shirt and peeled it off, up over his head, and tossed it to the side, then went to work at his pants. This was so different than before. They were so gentle with one another, like they were fragile enough to break. Stan finally kicked out of his boxers as Rick slid them down, and just like that, it was all only skin for the both of them. 

Rick laid himself down over Stan and they  moved against one another, almost tentatively at first. They were seeking out any friction they could find, hips rolling against each other in slightly different rhythms. Stan met his lips again, Rick extended Stan's arm to bend and rest to the mattress over his head, and Stan sunk his fingers into the gaps and held on tight. With his other hand, Rick groped around for their lube. Stan found himself grinding down again and again on a sweet spot of friction he'd discovered to the side of Rick's hip. It was actually _working_ , he could feel the way he thickened and lengthened, the increasing sensitivity sending small waves of pleasure like warm water lapping at his inner thighs.

The noise of their breathing filled the air, all soft gasps and pants. Rick had to let go of Stan's hand briefly to open and squeeze the lube out, and Stan's hand felt very cold in its absence. It came back soon enough, and Rick squeezed in a gentle, reassuring pulse while his other slippery hand wrapped around and coated his dick, tugging to guide him to hardness. It just wasn't working as well as Stan had hoped it would.

_Dammit_. These sensations still nudged Stan closer to the edge of his comfort zone, he felt a rush of nerves prickle his insides. _This is **Rick** ,_ he repeated to himself, and felt a few muscles he didn't even know he'd been holding taught relax. Why was this stupid arousal thing so difficult, it seemed like the easiest thing in the world for other people. An inconvenience, even. No, he'd never looked at Rick and been turned on by him, or had an urge to fuck him right then and there—  _was that seriously a thing people thought?_ He just wanted to do this with too much trouble, was that too much to ask?

It wasn't like it felt terrible. There was bunches of nerve cells there for a reason, right? Stan sat back and tried to clear his mind, focusing on making his breathing even instead of the touch, and let his eyes fall closed. Nope, that kind of made it worse. He snapped his eyes open again to Rick's concerned face. He took his hand away and chose to massage at Stan's thighs instead. 

"Lee?" He piped up curiously, running the edge of his palm up to his knees and then back down again, the dark hairs there smoothing down and then popping back up.

"It's-I'm okay. Keep going." Stan bit down on his jaw in frustration. "I'm just- fucking _overthinking_ again." 

Rick leaned against his propped leg, cupping Stan's kneecap and resting his cheek on top of his hand. He rubbed Stan's other thigh, running his hand from top to bottom over and over. 

"This is the first time we're doing this since..." Stan trailed off. He felt his nakedness, he was too aware of it at the moment. They both knew what he meant, since he'd been under the influence of those pills. "I just want it to be good. We haven't slept together in so long."

Rick kept his hand on Stan's leg, then hugged his knees to either side of him. "It's been driving me crazy. God, I want you so bad." 

"Just touch me." Stan whispered, he reached out to touch Rick, running his palm along the warmth of his skin on his chest. He hummed softly when Rick's hand wrapped around his dick again. Rick hovered over him and encompassed him with his body this time, Stan realized it felt pretty good to press a cheek to Rick's chest as his erection grew in his hand. 

"Ah... _ah_..." Stan panted, throwing his arm around Rick's back and pumping his hips into Rick's hand. "Okay. _Hfff..._ Rick-" 

Rick pulled at Stan's shoulders, Stan understood instantly and wound his arms around Rick, placing him lightly to be on his back again. Sneakily enough, at the change in position Rick had spread his legs to open wide, and now they were almost lined up already. All it took was a little adjusting for Stan, and he felt the slight resistance, and then the warm slide as he pushed his length into Rick underneath him. Stan moaned softly, and curled his hands into fists around the sheets.    

Rick took him in with a soft grunt, and Stan found his other hand and extended them both over Rick's head, clasping on tight to both hands with their fingers intertwined. Stan began to hump his hips experimentally, being as gentle as he possibly could, but the pressure still pulsed Rick's body backward with each thrust. Rick moaned softly, his mouth hanging open with the pleasure. He moved his hips in an opposing rhythm to meet Stan's thrusts, and Stan slipped in even deeper. Their lips met again, and Rick let go of Stan's hand to wind it around the back of his head, keeping him right there. 

 _This seems different._ Stan found himself thinking. It was so much slower, more gentle, more passionate than they'd ever been before. He didn't let go of Rick's hand, resting over Rick's head. Stan found a good beat to each roll of his hips, just letting his body and his deep-seated instincts do the work for him as he pumped into Rick over and over, ass muscles clenching with each downward thrust. 

Rick panted warm, alcohol-laden air across his face and wrapped him up close in his arms, squeezing his pole-like thighs around his gently rolling hips. Rick kissed the tip of his cheekbone, below his eye, the bridge of his nose, his eyelid. Stan quivered somewhere deep in his chest. He continued on with the gentle rocking of his hips, Rick's mouth was warm and wet when he guided Stan's mouth open with a thumb to the middle of his chin.  

"Tell me," Rick huffed into his ear. "Wh-when you think you're close." 

"Uh-huh," Stan all but grunted, shutting his eyes as he continued to rock his hips. He tried not to feel overwhelmed by that powerful, building sensation he felt just under the surface. He'd squeezed Rick's hand in warning when he finally felt the way it shifted and crested, knowing from (minimal) experience, he'd be coming soon. Rick guided him through it again, holding him securely and wrapping his legs around him, kissing him through it, stroking his fingers up and down from the curve of his skull to the back of his neck when it had passed and the two lay on top of each other, panting.

Rick wrapped him up into a different kind of hug, chest-to-chest, one that Stan somehow felt didn't have anything to do with anything sexual (which was ironic, considering he was growing flaccid still inside him). Rick hugged him like the friend he was, Stan could feel the pounding of his heart from where their chests pressed together. Stan rubbed his hand up and down the curve of his back, hiding his face in the crook of his neck. 

"Stan..." Rick's voice was a strained whisper. 

"I know." Stan replied softly, his voice gravelly. "There's been some close calls, huh?" He dug his fingers into Rick's back as they squeezed their arms around each other even tighter. "We're alive. We're okay." 

"Well, alive, at least." Rick mumbled, skimmed his fingertips through the hairs near Stan's ear, and slipped the hair behind its shell-like ridge, tucking the strand with a stroke that trailed his fingertips down the outside ridge of his ear. They repositioned, Stan pulling out and wriggling to lay on his side, facing Rick. Rick lay on his side too, he reached out and tucked that piece of hair over and over again behind Stan's ear, until he held back a kind of laugh that made his chest jump, a laugh that he wanted to hold back but found he couldn't. 

"Hmmm?" Stan asked, he found himself with a small smile on his face just in anticipation for what he might say. "What's the hell's so funny?" 

"I just noticed. Your ears are kinda big." Rick playfully took it between his thumb and pointer, rubbing his thumb along the waxy inner ridge, then tugged lightly. It was equal parts teasey but also strangely affectionate. The ears were warmer than usual, because of the flush that arose on Stan's face from the comment. 

"Yeah, I _know_ , asshole, I have a mullet. Why the fuck did you think I grew my hair so long?" Stan countered to that, but he couldn't help but break and start to chuckle by the end of that sentence.

They both laughed together and started kissing, trying to firmly keep their lips sealed but their chests wound up jumping with held-back laughter anyways and their pressed-together lips still curled upward. Both of them seemed to ditch the effort almost at the same moment, fitting their noses alongside each other and giggling, gripping the other's shoulders, until their foreheads pressed to one another and they both snickered hard with laughter. 

Stan was on one of his last chuckles when Rick cut it short with another kiss. 

"Oh? Yer just gonna insult me like that and get away with it?" Stan spoke without drawing away from Rick's mouth, speaking without having to give up the kiss. 

"Yup," Rick teased back, deepening the kiss yet again. Stan kissed back once Rick held the back of his neck with his hair between his fingers, pulling him in closer to him. 

They had sex a few more times again that night. Rick bottomed twice more, until he said his ass was getting sore and he wanted to try something different. _This might feel a little weird,_ Rick told him when Stan asked to feel what it was like to have something inside himself. Rick had worked him open gently with a slippery finger, prodding at his G-spot until he came gasping for air. They both got too tired to do much more than get off from friction just by rubbing against each other before they finally fell asleep, tangled in each other. They found themselves moving against one another in their sleep and woke up just long enough for another round, before passing out hard again.

Stan didn't think he'd come that many times, cumulatively, in his entire life. Well, that was an exaggeration. It just felt like _a lot_. It was hard to describe: nothing in his mind had changed, and he could still tell the sexual pull was lacking, and it was difficult to get it up if he relied on his thoughts or the situation alone. But Rick seemed to know just how to touch him to bring back his erection, or guided his movements when he started to lose it. Climax still felt sort of overwhelming, but he wasn't affected as much by that anymore, not when Rick was the one there with him. He couldn't really imagine doing this kind of thing with anyone else, as lame as he knew that sounded. 

Stan phased out of sleep yet again, he blinked at his darkened room and sighed in frustration. The short naps between sex had been all he'd slept, and some of that was just out of exhaustion. Now that it was a longer stretch, his thoughts crept back in. 

"Can't sleep?" Rick rustled in the sheets next to him until he pressed flush to his back, wrapping his arms around him and cupping his pecs in his palms.

"Yeah." Stan sighed, rubbing his hand down his face and sighing. "I keep _thinking_ about... fuck. I just gotta find some way to relax." 

"You wanna, uhh, soak in the bath with me?" Rick's voice was uncertain, like if he was unsure if Stan would shoot him down on the idea. Stan grinned and tore the covers off of the both of them, revealing a naked Rick spread-eagle on the sheets. Stan scooped Rick easily up into his arms and carried him off to the bathroom, Rick hanging upside-down over his back and chuckling, kicking his legs.

The claw-footed tub still had a yellowish ring of dried up suds from the last time they'd used it. The two clambered into the empty tub, facing each other on other end, and twisted the hot water faucet to full blast. They let the steaming water rise all around them.  

"You know, we're probably stealing all the hot water from the entire complex right now." Stan pointed out. 

"Are you kidding? That makes me enjoy this even _more_." Rick patted at the surface of the water with a few splashes.

"Shit. Me too." Stan made a couple of his own splashes and smirked. The two leaned back against their ends of the tub, sighing softly every so often from the warmth, letting the noisy rush of the pipes in the wall and the quiet roar the faucet dumping water fill the silence for now. Stan finally twisted the water off, and the shitty faucet still dripped with a quiet plink.  They soaked in silence for another moment.

"We almost died today." Stan said hollowly and stared blankly up at the ceiling, feeling beads of sweat run down the sides of his face. Why didn't those words feel like they even meant anything anymore when he said them?

"Yeah." Rick agreed in softly from across the tub, similarly spreading his arms out and hooking his elbows along the rim. He leaned back and sank further down into the steaming water with his chin pointing up. 

"Every single one of _me_ almost died." Stan's voice softened even more. "Dimensionally. All at once."

" _Yep_." Rick agreed again through his teeth, almost like he was irritated. "No breaks in the chain." His eyes fell closed as he continued to slide slower further downward. 

"What, Rick? Can I not be freaked out by this? Should I just act like this doesn't effect me?" Stan roughly swiped his hand down his sweating face. "Fuck, I... I don't think I'll be able to sleep tonight." 

"Oh? Well, I have some syrup you can have, that'll put you right out. You'll sleep like a baby, that is, if I fed a baby sedating antihistamines--" 

"That's not what I'm talking about." Stan groaned.

Rick was silent for a moment, just soaking in the water with his eyes closed. "Fine. I know." 

"How are we even....how are we _alive_ right now?" Stan held his cheeks and stared, mortified, down at the rusting drain in the middle of the porcelain. 

"I've had a lot of close calls, I asked myself the saame thing in the beginning. I've just taught myself not to question it anymore." Rick groped around along the side of the tub and somehow produced a bottle of wine in green glass. 

"Where did that—??" Stan asked. 

"I spent almost my whole life hiding alcoholism and stashing shit."  He stuck the opening of the bottle in his mouth, the bubbles sliding through its deep  green neck creating quiet glugging sounds. "Old habits die hard, buddy." 

He handed it off to Stan, who took an even longer swig. And when he passed it back to Rick, he polished off the rest of the bottle without a break.  Rick leaned over the side of the bath to let it clink to the floor and burped.

"I need a distraction." Stan grumbled, holding onto the edges of the tub with white knuckles. "My mind is chewing on what happened. I can't get it to stop."

Rick, with a few tinkling drops of water and splashes, draped his arm over Stan's knees and wrapped his hand just above his knee. He squished his cheek to his kneecap, just looking at Stan's face with tired eyes. Tiny bluish hairs clung flat to parts of his face.

"I know that look. What?" Stan searched Rick's face. He didn't like feeling scrutinized like this, it made him crawl in his skin.

 "No one should have to go through these things. It's all because of me.  I'm g-gonna make a proposal to you." Rick already looked sour about it. "Hear me out." 

"Yeah? What, then?" 

"I can't let you come with me all the time," Rick let it out, the words sighed to a deep sigh. "It's too dangerous." 

"Wha- why?!" Stan blurted, then groaned. "Goddammi— I can't let you go out without me as a cloak, Rick. It's dangerous for both of us. What if they catch you by yourself while I'm away? Just like Amputee did? Or if they kill me, then  _all_ of me are gone. What if they kill you while we're apart? We have to stick _together_." 

"You don't have to stick with me." Rick held his temples and shook his head. "God, Stan, why are you letting me do these things to you? Drag you into danger all the time? I should be protecting you from this, not the other way around—" 

"I know what I signed up for." Stan insisted. He leaned more toward the center of the tub with faint splashes, and reached out to curl his wet hand around the back of Rick's neck. "I know it's dangerous. I don't care." 

"W-W-well, you _should!_ " Rick shook his head, frustrated. Stan parted his legs and pulled Rick in closer through the water, Rick familiarly settling into his lap. Rick's greyish-tan skin shone with the layer of water, and the skin was flushing pinker from the heat. Rick captured Stan's cheeks within his hands, running his wet thumbs along the stubble.

Stan curled his fingers around Rick's hipbones, and the two looked into each other's eyes. Stan's lack of sleep was already apparent in his eyes, in his expression. Rick caressed his face with his thumbs again, scowling.

"Jesus, Stan, what am I doing to you." Rick whispered. 

Stan wanted to say something like _It's not your fault_ or _No harm done_ , but he realized both wouldn't be true. Instead he just stayed silent, holding Rick in his lap and just staring into his face as Rick continued to cup his cheeks. 

"I can't keep doing this." Rick sighed, and took his hands away and dipped them back into the water, palming Stan's hairy chest instead.

"What do you think we should do, then? Do you really just want to be friends again?" Stan's voice was unsure, and his eyes averted to the ground. He didn't know what else he wanted to say, he needed to know how Rick felt first.

"I don't know what you want, Stan, but I think I know what I..." Rick trailed off. "Please, just say what you _want_. We'll even say it at the same time. Okay?" 

Stan nodded, and squeezed his hands around Rick's hips. He knew what he wanted to say. But hell, what did  _Rick_ want? What if they said different things? Oh god, what if this stupid thing really changed it all from now on?

"Okay. One, two..." Rick's crumpled brow gave away that he was probably feeling the same nerves. "Three."

"Be with you." Stan—

"Stay like this." Rick— 

both blurted simultaneously on three. They both sighed loudly in relief and  couldn't help but pull each other in right after that. They didn't say anything at first as they gathered the other up close, splish-splashing as they adjusted.

"Okay, that was really stupid." Stan said, knocking his head back to the lip of the tub and chuckling. 

"New rule: we never do that again." Rick snorted, squishing himself up closer to Stan and nudging at his jaw, planting kiss after kiss. 

" _Great_ rule." Stan mumbled before he turned his cheek to the side, slotting their lips together, the two of them just  soaking in the scalding water that they stole from the rest of the apartment.  


Stan woke up in the morning to Rick sleeping soundly in his arms, he grumbled when Stan got up to make the both of them something for breakfast. Rick was cute in the mornings, maybe not to other people, but to _him_ he was. He often was in positions were he looked curled up like he was a cat, but with all those gangly, bony limbs all over the place he was more like if a cat had fallen asleep with stilts strapped on. Or some weird insect with jointed legs, like a praying mantis or a stickbug or something. It should have been ugly, but it wasn't. Rick's wild bedhead was the same way, or the darker stain of drool by his mouth, or his narrowed, pissed, sleepy brown eyes.

"Unnnf," Rick groaned and buried his face further into the blanket in irritation. "Close the--get the goddamn curtains closed, Brawns, _fuck_ , it's too bright for this shit." 

"Of course, _princess_." Stan grumbled and tugged the curtain closed with a loud shush of the rings along the pole, and as he passed Rick he playfully lay his spread palm down heavily on the side of his cheek and patted it. 

"Mnmnnn," Rick whined, kicking his legs that were twisted up in the sheets.

"Breakfast in fifteen," Stan said in passing, and ducked out of the door. "I'm making Stancakes."

He realized when he fished a pan out of the (mostly bare) cupboards that his asshole was a little sore from last night, and that had been nothing, just one of Rick's very thin fingers. He had a newfound appreciation for how Rick could just take all of him in like that. Stan felt distracted as he greased the pan, he let his mind wander. Fragments of last night came back to him in no particular order-- those waves of pleasure as Rick pumped and crooked his finger inside of him, that mischievous upward tick at the corner of his brow when he saw how much he was making him come undone. Stan holding Rick's hips as he rode him. Switching up the pace and making it faster, how the breath puffed out of him so rapidly. 

Better memories floated to him, ones he was much more fond of. Discovering an overworked Rick who'd fallen asleep curled up into himself from pure exhaustion in their bathroom. Just the subtle touches here and there, looping his arm around his shoulder with the flask in his hand when they walked down the sidewalk together. Brushes of his hand over the back of his elbow, or if they were sitting, touching his knee. That funny, dramatic way that he'd swipe at his lips with the length of his inner arm. Or how he possibly could have looked good in old stained tighty whities that clung to every curve of his flat, flat ass, lounging around like a mangy, overgrown cat with stilts. Dammit, why did that make him look _good?_ It wasn't fair.    

And Stan had to finally admit to himself, he'd been in denial for too long: he was falling pretty damned hard for the bastard. No matter what he put him through.

*   *   *

Stan saw a corrosive silver liquid leaking out from their steel mailbox, he could see how it had fallen like acid through all the mailboxes under theirs, until it finally had pooled around the base and eaten a hole about two feet deep into the soil. As he watched, another shiny drip fell and bore deeper into the ground with a faint hiss. He yawned and itched an asscheek, unperturbed, and looked around for the claw-ended waste picker that he'd use for Rick's more questionable postage. After almost half a year with Rick as his roommate, nothing could surprise him anymore.

Stan grumbled and stuck his mail key into the lock. Twisted enough, the liquid had dripped directly down into the other mailboxes, and all of their mail was intact. Stan removed the cardboard box with the picker, set it down, and then rifled non-chalant through the rest of their mail. Of course, there was the expected envelope from Birdperson with a white and grey feather stuck to the front. Rick and Birdperson probably had years of letter volleying to one another under their belts, even though they saw each other in person often enough. Stan tucked it under his arm and continued to pick out the junk, the bills, things in both foreign Earth languages and alien languages, until—

Stan looked at a postcard. The front was a photo of two red and white-spotted toadstools growing out of a mossy, deep brown log, and in a looping, pretentious-Grandma font, _Gravity Falls_ in the corner. _Talk about a snooze-fest,_ Stan thought. By the looks of it, the town didn't have much to offer if they sold postcards of _mushrooms_. Last thing he knew, Rick didn't associate himself with someone boring enough to send a mushroom postcard in the mail. Unless it was a sly nod to eating hallucinogenic ones or something, without having it down in writing. Maybe? But when he turned it over:

"Ford," Stan whispered in shock, and dropped all the rest of the mail. They fell to the floor in sweeping motions like falling leaves, and a drop of falling silver acid burned a quarter-sized hole into the corner of one. And the back were just two large words taking up the whole card, in a desperate, slashing chicken-scratch. 

#  _PLEASE_

#  _COME!_

*   *  *

"Come on , you coward." Stan urged himself on, one hand already hopelessly entangled in the off-white cords of their phone, the other finger poised over the number pad. He'd had two close calls, very close together. He could have easily died twice over in just the past few weeks. Chatting to his twin brother over the phone was nothing compared to getting tossed out of a moving car to avoid getting his organs harvested or almost being vaporized by an evil cyborg of his boyfriend's future grandson, right? 

Then why was he so goddamn  _nervous?!_

He looked at the postcard in his hand one more time. It was from  618 Gopher Road, in Gravity Falls, Oregon. A clear address like that meant one thing, that if he got in his car and just drove, he would see his brother. Just like that. The postcard checked out under the blacklight, with nothing on it. There really didn't seem to be any kind of code within the all-caps, desperate, PLEASE COME! Ford seemed to be done playing games with him this time. 

He bit down hard on the inside of his cheek, hoping to ride through the pain to distract himself enough to do it. He picked at the number pad, inputting them all before he could give too much thought to turn back. _Fuckfuckfuck—_

He brought the receiver to his face and flinched at the first sound of the ringtone. He kept his eyes closed, just listening to the tone buzzing on and off. It clicked, and Stan really, really wanted to slam the damn thing down before he heard his voice again. 

"Stanley?! Is that you? I used to be able to tell who you were just by the sound of your breath, but now--Now I'm not so sure, so many things can be falsified by _him_ , now I— for the love of God, say something! Did you get my postcard? Are you coming? Is it really you I'm speaking to, or is it-" 

"Geez, Ford, what's gotten into you?" Stan's heart constricted in his chest. Something was very wrong. Something had happened to change him from the last time they spoke. 

"I can't tell you now. People listening, always listening in— but you got it, right? My postcard?" Ford's voice rasped, like he was nearly in tears. " _Please_. Please, come."

"I want to." Stan replied, his body language hunched and he realized too late that he was trying to shush him with a lowering motion, soothe his brother even though he couldn't see him. "Alright. I will. Uh, I'm coming to meet you in Oregon. As soon as I can. Okay?" Stan blurted, before he could stop himself.

Ford's relieved sigh crackled over the phone line. "Hurry," He urged in a terrified whisper, and the line went dead.

Stan listened numbly to the drawn-out monotone, then placed it back on the hook, very, very gently. 

" _Riiick?_ " He called into the apartment behind him, still without letting his eyes leave the receiver. "Pack your shit. We're going to Oregon."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: I chose dimension E-650 for the Rick that Morty takes, because in roman numerals it becomes E- VI L. Lol. Also, ever since I read [this](https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9ltFBArbAS8/WOCdH5dan1I/AAAAAAACoe8/PvNbWSK0JsosoDQynjJniCG0kmOZTsm-gCLcB/s1600/467_03.jpg) panel in a Rick and Morty comic, I headcanon Morty as blue-eyed. If you want to read the comic, you can [here](http://viewcomic.com/rick-and-morty-001-2015/)! 
> 
> I feel like these interpretations have really strayed and I feel sorry that I lost the "voices" of these characters a while back, but I'm just going to keep on going, and try not to be so tough on myself! It has been so long since I wrapped something up, I can just do more editing on it later! It looks like there's going to be probably three more chapters after this, if everything goes according to plan. Thanks so much for reading :)


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, here it is!  
> This chapter was really hard for me to get around to writing... I'll probably need to go back and edit later, because I'll admit I didn't spend as much time editing/polishing this as I usually do. But I just need to get through these chapters and upload them, or I might never wind up finishing this thing :/// 
> 
> Also, this chapter is pretty sad and angsty. Just giving you guys a heads up for that, in case you aren't in the mood for sad!
> 
> BUT for some good news, I didn't realize I was doing this at first, but I think it's lead up to the point where I'm going to be writing this as a soulmate story!! I'm actually really happy about that! Yes I know it's a really sappy trope... but this is my story so I'm just going to get as syrupy as I please, lol ;)
> 
> There's some smut at the end of this chapter, as well as another discussion about asexuality near the end.

_March, 1982_

"No peeking," Rick guided Stan's hands to clamp over his eyes, and yet Stan immediately peeked through the smallest of gaps. The only thing he could make out through the fuzzy blur of his fingers was that Rick was wearing a towel around his shoulders.  
  
"Seriously? I said no peeking!" Rick pinched Stan's fingers shut again, chuckling, and Stan scoffed through the embarrassment of being caught. "You'll like it. I promise."  
  
Stan could feel the presence of something just in front of his face, something that smelled like chemicals with an undertone of soapy pine.  
  
"Now look, if you haven't already, you ol' cheat."  
  
Stan finally opened his eyes and got eyeful of Rick's hair, at the zig-zaggy part where he could see his pale scalp, as Rick bent at the waist and clutched to hairs on either side, making his head perfect eye-level. _Brown_ hairs.  
  
"I was never staying on top of the damn roots, anyway." Rick mumbled, clearly insecure that maybe the 'surprise' was going to be a letdown.  
  
"It's brown!" Stan hopped up and clamped onto Rick's head over his ears. He almost couldn't believe his eyes as he drank in the image, a huge, toothy smile on his face. Rick looked much different with his original color again, that grey-blue color really washed him out. The deep brown matched his eyes, he looked more youthful again, suave, dark. And very, very handsome. Stan kissed at the damp locks over and over again, burying his nose into the deep brown. It smelled clean and felt so soft against his lips. He nuzzled against Rick and breathed in with satisfaction. He didn't even realize until just now, but he'd really missed this hair.  
  
"Pervy hair-sniffer!" Rick laughed.  
  
"Wait— this means Ford is gonna meet you with brown hair!" Stan realized, elated.  
  
"Y-yeah." Rick stammered, slipping his hand up Stan's thigh.  
  
"You did this for me? For this trip?" Stan leaned into his touch as Rick palmed the front of his pants with a slow drag of friction. Rick just nodded, the smallest of smiles on his face.

Stan took Rick's wrist and pulled him back toward him. "C'mere, you fox."  
  
Rick stretched out and laid on top of him, slipping his hand to the side of his face and kissing him slowly. Stan reached up and cupped his ass, Rick started to lazily roll his hips against him.  
  
" _Hhh_ ," Stan huffed softly into Rick's mouth, curling his fingers into the back of Rick's shirt. He laid flat on his back, long brown hair pooling around his head, pinkness starting to spread across his face as his breathing started to quicken. Rick licked across his tongue, and Stan pushed back with a deeper kiss. When Rick pulled away both of their chins and lips were shiny.  
  
"Heh, you know what I was thinking? It's been a while since it's just been the two of us. I lost track of how many threesomes we've had with Bubblegum by now. I missed this. Just me and you." Stan combed his fingers through Rick's brown hair, a soft smile on his face and Rick nuzzled against his hand. Stan started at the crown of his head, raking his fingers through his hair once again and Rick's eyes folded shut with pleasure. Rick rocked against him gently, both huffing softly from the friction.  
  
"You did really this just for me," Stan breathed, twisting his hand into that lovely brown hair. "You're the best boyfriend in the world."  
  
Crap, he really hadn't meant for that to come out. He just liked these vulnerable moments when they got intimate and he felt like he could admit all the things he kept to himself to Rick: but was that over the line? Rick would probably really hate a label like that, wouldn't he? It was his fault for using the term mentally all the time, he was bound to have a slip up sooner or later.  
  
Stan immediately picked apart Rick's expression, hoping he wouldn't find something sour there. Rick just looked at him, taken off guard, his face tinted with a flush and slightly sweaty already. He raised his eyebrows in surprise, waiting for Stan to continue.  
  
"Sorry. Is that... I guess we shouldn't call each other that." Stan's hand slipped to rest by Rick's groin, pressing to the denim of his jeans instead. " _Fuck_. I really didn't mean to say that."  
  
"Say it again." Rick whispered.  
  
Stan felt like his mind hadn't exactly understood what he'd said for a second of disconnect.  
  
"What?" He blurted maybe a bit too loudly, blinking owlishly in confusion.  
  
"You heard me," Rick raised his voice to be just above a whisper, this time he was the one who looked more embarrassed than Stan.  
  
"Uhh. Okay." Stan realized his trying-to-be-smooth façade was clearly long gone by now. "Uh... crap, now I don't remember exactly what I said with you _looking_ at me like that."

Rick just laughed and captured his lips with his own. Things started to get hot and heavy when-

"Hang on," Stan smirked, already sliding backwards to get off of the bed. "I wanna put on one of my records on or something."  
  
" _God_ you're so fucking cheesy." Rick teased, but the dopey smile stretching across his face said otherwise. Stan found one, blew off the dusk, and settled the grooved black plate onto the player, lined up the needle, and leapt back into bed with Rick, both laughing and tangling up into one another.  
  
They kissed and made out through the entire first song, and traced patterns on the other's skin lazily at the next one. Stan couldn't get enough of Rick's eyes, the way they shone and looked so much better paired with that rich brown hair again.  
  
"I wish it could be like this forever." Stan told him, he sat pressed up against the wall with Rick in his lap, their faces drawn close together as Stan spoke in a quiet rumble, eyes downcast. His record had ended long ago, and now it just broadcast gritty fuzziness and the occasional muffled bump of the needle. "I don't give a shit if I need to put a knife through my hand every so often. Doing this, protecting you with my brainwaves... it makes a lowlife like me feel like I'm actually good for somethin'."  
  
At that, Rick closed the short inches of gap and pressed a soft kiss to the tip of his pinkish nose.  
  
"I want to be with you." Stan's voice went even quieter, it was nearly a whisper now. He skimmed his fingertips along Rick's side. "For as long as we possibly can, I just want to be together."  
  
"Yeah," Rick whispered in reply, his hand snaking up the side of his neck to the side of his face.  
  
"Yeah?" Stan's mouth split into a cheerful, toothy grin, before Rick practically mouth-punched Stan, and the two flopped over, giggling, Rick's skinny legs wrapped vice-tight around him.

Stan was fast asleep beside him when Rick woke up to hear a soft blip from his Tracker.

Coordinates sent from Bubblegum? 

Rick slipped out from under Stan's hairy arm and curled his fingers around his portal gun, a weird feeling sinking like a heavy stone in his stomach. Whatever this was, it was nothing good.

Rick stepped out of the portal onto a strange planet he'd never been to before. The sky was a dark purple-red like wine, and at first glance its surface was covered in a fleshy yellow grass, swaying freely in the wind like seagrass. Upon closer inspection they weren't blades of grass at all, but long tentacles with one small mouth at the tip, like a seahorse's snout. They swayed and pressed up blindly to Rick's legs as he waded through them. He spotted Bubblegum easily enough. 

He was laying there with his folded hands behind his head with his elbows jutting out, and he was naked. That wasn't unusual in the slightest, though. Ricks didn't normally wear clothes if he could help it, not many alien species wore clothes or were familiar with the concept, and they didn't have the same social norms around genitals. Sometimes wearing them even put other species on edge, so Rick had gotten pretty comfortable with nudity by now. 

Bubblegum barely even acknowledged Rick, just nodded at him, keeping his lips pressed into a tight line. Rick waded up and eased himself down next to him, sitting criss-crossed, reaching out a finger and letting one of the tentacles explore and wrap around it, waiting patiently for his alternate to speak.   
  
"I think you can guess why I had you come here." Bubblegum said softly. The fleshy yellow tendrils swayed and brushed up against him, the suckers at the top of each stalk exploring and probing his arms and his face with feather-light touches.  
  
The tiny tentacles tickled Rick's skin, feeling him up with tiny kiss-like touches. He reached out and touched Bubblegum's elbow, dragging his two fingers, the middle tracing a line as the index briefly would bump down for the ghost of a touch. The alternate Rick shut his eyes at the touch, his jaw locked and his mouth stiff.  
  
"I don't want to kill you, Rick." Rick restrained himself from rolling his eyes. For some reason, calling him by codename just didn't feel right for now. "Don't make me talk you down from this again."  
  
"You've seen it too. We were both there." Bubblegum continued, his voice small and without much intonation, he spoke like he was completely detached as he just stared up blankly at the sky. "You see the way they make a spectacle out of it. In goes a Rick, out comes this tiny little ball. It's like a magic trick, isn't it?"  
  
"Rick..." Rick warned softly. He really wasn't in the mood for talking his friend out of suicide once again. "Come back with me, let's fuck and forget about this. You're just in a mood."   
  
"Listen. They've changed the way it's done, now. Formal Rick doesn't use a gun anymore. I'll be injected with a full-body paralyzer that increases pain perception. I'll be alive, awake, for the whole thing." Bubblegum shuddered, eyes slipping shut. "I'll be burned alive inside of that thing. They want this to happen to me soon."

 _Fuck,_ Rick realized. _He's serious_.   
  
"There's still a couple of universes left where Stan doesn't know us." Rick rolled to his side and curled toward Bubblegum, interlocking his fingers on the crook of Bubblegum's elbow and resting his chin on top. "Find one of those. He can hide you. His brainwaves work so fucking _well_ for us. Or, how- how nice it feels, to be around him. If you just boosted it somehow, I mean, with just a little bit of chronic pain..."  
  
“No, Rogue. I can't." Bubblegum sighed, staring blankly up at the deeply purple sky again.  
  
“Y-You can live with us, then.” Rick pressed a feather-light kiss to his elbow. “Stan won’t mind, I know that already. He likes having you around. The three of us, we could be— y’know. Do a poly thing or wh-whatever. I know Stan likes seeing you fuck me. And I- I like it too.”  
  
"I can't escape this now, Rogue. What I did— all those Ricks that Morty killed, it’s on my head now, because I hid that data. It doesn’t help that we have no goddamn idea where the kid is now, either. The only reason I’ve been allowed to live this long is because they’re all running around like chickens with their heads cut off trying to find him. They’ll find me. Soon. No matter what I do. They killed Mirror for getting strong, th-they have enough against me by now to kill me ten times over." Bubblegum captured his lower lip in his teeth, his eyes shiny and watering now when they flicked to Rick's face.  
  
Rick knew he wasn't lying. His eyes fell closed too, and he wriggled closer to his alternate to piece by his side. He knew now, and the realization sank into his stomach like a heavy stone: Bubblegum was never going to leave this planet, was he?  
  
"I'm the best Rick at using the Tracker." Bubblegum tacked on softly. "I don't want this skill to fall into their hands. They could extract it from my head and give it to another Rick. So I need you to put something through my head, alright?"

"Please don't ask me to do this again. You're my friend, BG. I... I didn't even know I could like another Rick this much. We can figure out something, a- another way."  
  
The little wavy tentacles pressed, explorative and curious, on Bubblegum's cheek, extending out to the seams of his mouth. Bubblegum let his eyelid fall closed in a wink when one extended up his face and pressed his eyelid, dabbing the tiny mouth and collecting, drinking the moisture there. "I love this planet. I come here to think. These tentacles, they all belong to the same old-as-balls life form. It's like if a sea anemone and the biggest stand of trees ever fucked and created this weird, planet-sized _thing_. I... was thinking... I'd give myself to it."  
  
"You mean you want it to eat you." So, that was why he was naked, so the creature wouldn't have to digest fabric. Rick suddenly felt like the little sticky suckers that had been tickling him all this time weren't so cute anymore. He swatted them away and began to squirm, finally clambering to his feet and kicking every time he felt one of them touch his ankle. The creature got the message pretty quickly, apparently, and just continued to swarm over Bubblegum. He looked like someone who was sinking into a gigantic vat of spaghetti, but who looked oddly happy about it.  
  
"Don't pretend like you don't have your fantasies." Bubblegum said softly, the tentacles overtaking more than half of his face now. "You have several ways you want to die. You've had the same ideas for how you want it to happen for your whole life. Duh. We're both Ricks, remember?"  
  
"Yeah." Rick wished he could say something a little more eloquent, but the tears were choking up his throat and he didn't want to give into them. He crouched down, went to his knees, and placed his hand on the other half of Bubblegum's face not occupied by the creature, stroking his cheek with his thumb. With his left hand, he took out his blaster, and pressed it directly up to Bubblegum's forehead. A tiny tentacle reached out to inspect it, but finding it was cold and inorganic when it touched it, it went back to Bubblegum's face.  
  
"You, uhhh, you want any last words or something?" Rick hesitated. His finger was on the trigger, but he couldn't bring himself to pull it. Not yet. His hand trembled, and he could tell there was another reason lying just below the surface, another reason why Bubblegum had asked him in particular to do this for him.  
  
Bubblegum snorted out a puff of air, his lips twitched into a brief smile, but finally he just shook his head.  
  
“Why do all the Ricks I know have to die.” The tip of Rick's weapon slipped down Bubblegum's forehead with his drooping wrist, he realigned it flat to Bubblegum’s forehead again.  
  
“We’re all dying, all the time. That's kind of the point of Rickvolution. Don’t feel too special, now.” Bubblegum replied, full of snark, like always.  
  
Rick blew all the air out of his lungs, his chest spasming with a strange cross between a laugh and a choked-back sob.

"BG— I can't." The gun fell away, the creature flinched when it fell on top of it, the yellow tentacles explored it tentatively before deciding it was pretty disinterested in it, and just reached out to Bubblegum again.  
  
Rick buried his face in his hands, arched over the laying Bubblegum, his shoulders heaving with silent sobs. Bubblegum propped up his elbow, sat up, and looped his arm around the back of Rick's head, and pulled him to tip sideways into him.  
  
"Come on. You pulled the trigger on my teammate like it was a piece of cake. And he was a Rick."  
  
"He was trying to kill you," Rick growled. "And I did that to _save_ you. Bad example."

The two just sat among the swaying field, arms wrapped around each other for as long as it took for Rick to stop trembling. Bubblegum stroked his arm, slowly dragging his fingers along the same patch of skin over and over.  
  
"He was only the second Rick I've ever seen die," Rick admitted into Bubblegum's collarbones. "Mirror was the first."  
  
"The second?! God, you're innocent." Bubblegum teased, scritching lazily at his scalp and combing his fingers through his brown hair. "We're dying by the boatload every day. Did you see how many Morty plowed down? Wh-what, it was, probably--yeah, trust me, and that was only amateur hour."  
  
Rick pulled away, just enough to look into Bubblegum's eyes. More shininess gathered along Rick's bottom lids, his eyes flitted across a few features in his alternate's face before finally locking onto his forehead.  
  
"Please." Bubblegum pleaded, tapping at his forehead, the same way he'd done the first time he'd asked Rick to kill him. "This is how I want it. I promise you. It's better than what most of us get."  
  
"Wh-Why are you making me do this," Rick whispered, hating how snively and pathetic he sounded. He could tell there was something Bubblegum hadn't said just yet.  
  
"Because I didn't want to die alone." Bubblegum replied hollowly. Rick saw right through it, and his face fell with bitter realization.  
  
"No." Rick turned his cheek and looked away, he didn't want to look at his alternate right now. "I've only done it once. And once is more than enough times, asshole, trust me."  
  
"I want to do this for you. To give this to you." Bubblegum's strained voice carried from over Rick's shoulder. "I knew you'd done it before the minute you said you knew we'd have a daughter. Not many Ricks get information like that. Top secret, right?"  
  
Rick was silent, just grinding down on his teeth, and squeezing a fistful of the alien, feeling the way it squirmed unhappily in his fist, slipping between his fingers and trying to escape the grip.  
  
"I stole this device from the Council." Bubblegum finally pinched Rick's shoulder and spun him roughly, just so he'd face him. Bubblegum held it up to show him. It was belt sized and shaped, with about a dozen of thin clear chambers pressed up together flat, with two identical techy square ends chock full of smaller wires, motherboard, and small cylindrical chamber that held the needle that would reach into the spinal cord from the back of the neck.

Of course Rick had seen the design before: he'd created it.  
  
Rick didn't say anything, only kept staring into the dead center of Bubblegum's forehead. His hands crept up and dug into the meat of Bubblegum's shoulders near his neck.  
  
"I. _Can't._ " Rick hissed through his interlocked teeth. "-Join this Council."  
  
"I know." Bubblegum had gone pale in the face. He took Rick's wrists into his hands, holding on tight. "Rick... will you accept my memories?" He adjusted and squeezed his alternate's hands softly.  
  
"I don't really want them, but I think I need them if I want to stay out of this mess." Rick's irritation seemed to pass, and now he just seemed hollowed out and exhausted. He swiped his hand over his runny eyes and took the device delicately out of Bubblegum's hands.  
  
Bubblegum turned around, pushing the shaggy hair up off the back of his neck to expose it. Rick hugged him from behind, nosing at his jaw and hiding kisses along his neck and down his shoulder, and popped the needle out of its sheath.  
  
"I've seen a lot of fucked up things in my life, Rogue." Bubblegum's voice was husky from tears, and he stiffened and let out a low groan when Rick slipped the needle deep into the pale flesh at the back of his neck. "But my research with other Ricks, the ways the Council operates, my skills with the Tracker... they're all yours."  
  
"Stop acting like you're giving me some amazing gift, here." Rick grunted and turned around for his alternate to slide the needle into him, too, lifting away his own hair. "You're giving me all those fucked up things, too. And loading your brain with thousands of new bits of information all at once, yeah, as you'd imagine, it's-it's not exactly the smoothest transition in the world."  
  
They adjusted once again, Rick lowering Bubblegum to lie on his back and he arched over him. The tentacles quickly pulled him to sink a few inches into the squishy ground, all swaying softly like they were underwater, stroking at his bare skin.  
  
"Everything you need to know happened in the last three years of my life." Bubblegum's words all stayed on the same serene, detached tone of voice. "When you think you got it all, rip it out. And put something through my head, still, just in case."  
  
They didn't break eye contact the entire time, not even when the belt-like device connecting them began to light up, a yellow-white light pulsing out from Bubblegum to Rick and flashing across their identical faces. Rick wrapped his arms around his alternate and they sank into their embrace, eyes shut as the device flashed and pulsed with light, and Rick's mind was prepped to be filled with information.  
  
"Is it working?" Bubblegum asked meekly, not masking how scared he was to die anymore. It reminded Rick all too much of the look on Mirror's face before he watched him get shot and instantly cremated: wide, wild eyes, pale-faced, nostrils flaring.  
  
"It's just calibrating, B." Rick stroked his face, slower this time, dragging his fingers across his cheek to pet at his hair, upward to push the blue hairs off his forehead. "It's looking like we're going to be compatible." The yellow light flashed in their matching sets of eyes, and pupils contracting and shrinking up each time a wave of light passed.  
  
The tubes began to fill with a yellowish, clear liquid, and Bubblegum made a sharp intake of breath and grimaced at the sensation. The fluid pushing thickly through in a bell-curved shape with the middle tube reaching Rick's neck first.  
  
Rick cried out softly and fisted the swaying field tight into his grip, tentacles struggling to get freed within his balled hands. Rick coughed through the intensity of Bubblegum's transferring memories. What started out feeling like a trickle quickly turned into a deluge, like water frothing and tumbling over itself in a river rapid.  
  
Rick gritted his teeth and with a hiss pressed the barrel of the gun right up against the middle of Bubblegum's forehead again. He kept his teeth interlocked, hissing his breaths that flared his diaphragm in and out. He kept it pressed firmly to his head, kept his wrist straight. It was nearly all there, those vital three years, and Rick could feel how close he was to needing to abort the transfer.  
  
Bubblegum sighed softly and still didn't open his eyes, but by the way a small vein under his eye was pounding, his heart was racing.

He knew it was coming close now, too.

He nodded.  
  
Rick harshly ripped the device out of the back of Bubblegum's neck, red splattered onto the alien's yellow skin and the tentacles dove in hungrily around it to slurp it up. The gun was equipped with a silencer, and the quiet zing barely even made it to Rick's ears when the bullet burrowed and zipped its way out the back of his alternate's head.

The device dangled from the back of Rick's neck like an odd braid, clear-yellow spinal fluid and blood dripping off of the broken hollow needle tip. Still on his knees, Rick slipped the weapon back into an interior pocket, then hissed as he yanked out the dangling device out of the back of his own head.  
  
Rick curled over his alternate's limp body and gathered it tight into his arms.  
  
He stayed curled over him like that until the tentacles became more demanding, nearly swallowing him up and pulling the body along with surprising strength in some direction, probably toward its mouth.  
  
Rick finally stood up, the fleshy yellow fields swaying all around him. He let the tentacles sway and reach, press feather-light kisses to his ankles and calves and shins. The rich wine-like color of the sky was magnificent. Bubblegum was right, it seemed this would be a good place to come to think.  
  
Rick promised himself he'd never forget him. Of course, that would be a little hard to do considering the man's foreign memories throbbed within his skull now.

Rick hadn't even started to delve into them, but he knew one thing for certain now. The man really had been in love with Mirror: not in a brotherly way, not the way that Rick cared fondly about Bubblegum, but in a way that was deep and painful and overwhelming. Bubblegum had wanted a way out ever since he stood back and let the man be loved be executed, and he'd planned to go out swinging since.

Rick knew what he needed to do now.

It was a huge mystery before, but now it almost felt like Rick knew the Council headquarters like the back of his hand now. He input coordinates and opened up a portal into one of the headquarter Entry Zones.

He tried to walk confidently, like no one had any reason to be suspicious of him, and passed several other Ricks that paid him no attention. He had a little trouble using one of the holographic maps, but picked up on it easily enough before he could earn any stares when he relaxed and let his instincts and new memories guide the way. He found what he was looking for easily, since the name was painfully obvious.  
  
The Column of Criminals was used as the main support for one of the three arms of the spacecraft, and it was displayed like a sculpture. Rows upon rows of ashy grey orbs sat behind glass, organized in a twisting helix to create the massive supporting column. Hundreds of thousands of them, of cremated Rick remains. The twisting column extended through every transparent level, the spiraling twists consisting entirely of grey orbs going as deep as the eye could see.  
  
Groups or lone Ricks wandered and milled about, the ones at the lowest level were hard to see through the many layers of glass floors and ceilings, and they looked nearly like ants.  Rick's eyes flicked from side to side, and he bit his lip in anticipation. The coast looked clear enough. He pulled out his tracker from his pocket, holding it delicately in his hands. Bubblegum's confidence and expertise with the computational system flowed through him, the weight of the machine in his hands suddenly felt very familiar, and Rick began to type.  
  
Mirror had come from a dimension called X-080, and Rick was able to calculate exactly where his pool-ball-sized remains would be within the column with the help of the tracker's logging system. It also listed his numerous "crimes", but Rick didn't even so much as glance at those: he just knew his blood would boil if he did.

Rick didn't intend to stay for longer than a few minutes. His heart pounded when he used a thin laser to open up a circle in the glass displaying the criminals, reached in and dug out the ball. It was surprisingly heavy, and Rick struggled to carry it even with two hands, it was so condensed.  
  
Just touching it again brought back the memories in a painful rush, but this time he was experiencing it over again through two sets of eyes stationed in two different parts of the room. He shook his head like he could dislodge the thought: it really hurt his head to recall it like that. He concealed the orb beneath the flap of his lab coat, and rushed to dip into one of the smaller hallways, and swiftly portaled back to the planet with his stolen goods.

"Eat it, you stupid sack of shit!" Rick picked up the ball and let it fall with a thump again, but the tentacles continued to ignore it. He did it over and over again, nearly unaware of the tears that had started to stream out of his eyes and spill warmth down his cheeks. He continued picking it up and letting it drop heavily onto the creature over and over, but the alien didn't take the bait even once. In fact, its skin was starting to darken in circular patterns from it, Rick was probably starting to injure or bruise it. And Bubblegum cared so much for this creature, that he decided to feed his body to it, right?  

Rick stopped and squatted down, running his fingertips over the bruising. The creature flinched at the touch, and tears freely streamed down Rick's face. Fine, if he needed to do a little tricking this thing, then that was the way it was going to be. 

Rick dug out a hole in a large chunk of honey-baked ham with his bare hand, tossing fistfuls to the excitable tentacles that were writhing and leaping over each other with joy at the tasty snack. 

"Yeah, you like this, don't you? Here." Rick tossed out another handful of pink meat, and the yellow tentacles leapt to catch it, devouring it quickly and hundreds of squirming stalks pulsing happily. Dammit, they were actually sort of cute. 

When the hole was big enough, Rick picked the grey orb back up from the ground, where it was being completely ignored, and shoved it inside. There was no way the alien wasn't going to go for the bait now. Mirror would probably think this whole situation was hilarious, Bubblegum probably would too. 

"Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up." Rick mumbled to himself, swiping off some of the sticky meat juice off of his hand onto his pants. He lowered the chunk of ham, many tentacles already reaching impatiently upward as far as they could stretch to get it. Rick watched them wrap around it in their vat-of-spaghetti way again, dragging it in the same direction it had taken Bubblegum's body.

They could be together, here, forever.

Rick straightened up and stood in the swaying field, swiping at his running eyes with his sleeve. When he started to laugh manically, he couldn't get himself to stop. He doubled over and held his knees, laughing so hard his chest ached as his face leaked, tears and snot and drool. When the wave of strange laughter passed, he exhaustedly collapsed to his hands and knees, then fell to his side, letting the stalks swarm over and suck down everything off of his wet face. It wouldn't be too bad if the things wrapped all around him and dragged him away too, he thought. Oddly enough, he felt _jealous_ of the two dead Ricks with this planet as their final resting place. Maybe this is where he'd come to die, too, when the time came for him.

*   *   *

Stan sighed up at the darkened ceiling, resting his folded hands on his belly. He was worried about Rick: he knew what those swollen lids and exhausted red eyes meant, and Stan had no idea what would have made him upset enough to cry for long enough to look wrecked like that. And he'd just sealed himself off down in the Lab without a word of explanation, and Stan hadn't seen him come out even once. With a soft sigh, he climbed up off of the couch and input the code into the fridge's thermostat. The latch clicked and rose up from the floor, and slid backward to open up the door in the floor. Stan descended the steps, not sure what to expect to find.

The Lab had been expanded even more since he'd last seen it. The ceilings were just a little taller, the stairwell had a few more additional steps than he was used to.

Rick was at a blackboard with a sliding ladder, one of the gigantic ones you'd find the bottom of a fancy university's amphitheater. Every inch of its slate surface was absolutely covered with white chalk: complex equations and graphs stuffed with lines, the letters and numbers scrawled hastily. Stan spotted Rick at the lower right hand corner at the only part of the board with any blank space left, he was scribbling away just as manically as what was written would have suggested. As Stan watched in horror, Rick's muscles locked and he collapsed, knees crumpling under him, the chalk in his hand tracing a craggy downward line with a soft squeak.

"Rick!" Stan rushed to him, pulling him into his arms. "Whoa, hey hey. It's okay, I'm right here."

"St- _St..._ f-f-f--" Rick sputtered, his body clamping through a brief seize, he pulled in closer with a quiet whimper.

"Fuck, Rick, what am I... tell me what to do!" Stan began to panic just a little, wrapping his arms protectively around him.

"I-I-I'm f-f-" Rick's teeth chattered together. Tears glimmered in his eyes as his wide eyes flitted across Stan's face.

"If you tell me you're fine, I'll sock you." Stan growled, the hint of scared tears in the back of his throat.

Rick's stomach burbled and growled, so his eyes flicked down to it instead.

"You need food." Stan grunted. "How long have you been at this for? Holy smokes, Rick, you need to sleep!" He lifted him up into his arms. Rick linked his ankles behind Stan's back and looped his arms around his shoulders. Stan barred one of his arms under his ass and rubbed his curved back with the other. 

"I-I understand now. So much. I-I-I know why y-you only exist in one tenth of dimension, why you-" Rick began, mumbling into Stan's cheek.

"Hey, that's one eleventh to you, mister." Stan shot back. Hey, ten was one percent less than he should have been getting credit for. If he existed in only eleven percent of dimensions, he was going to stick to that number like glue.

"That's not how fractions... never mind." Rick shook his head, the smallest of smiles on his lips, even though it was brief. His voice was weak with exhaustion. "I should have guessed, it all seems so obvious now. The conditions have to be just right to create a neutralizer, that their — _your_ — existence is tethered to a genius's, of course... it could only happen when there's a monozygotic pair- randomly occurring, not genetic like dizygotic twins... the changes of _two_ rare randomly occurring events at once is so statistically low that it only makes sense that-"

Stan slipped Rick down onto a barstool, and Rick began to ramble quietly into his folded skinny arms, like he couldn't stop himself, or he wasn't even aware he was doing it.

"How long's it been since you last ate?" Stan reprimanded him, speaking over his ramblings and slapping a generous glob of peanut butter onto a slice of white bread.  
  
"I don't n-need it," Rick's teeth chattered together as he held his scrawny arms together at the elbows. "Mild starvation: it sharpens the mind. Gets me sorta manic. I need that-- I-I need a sharp mind, it's so...so much... the sheer scope, everything he knew..."  
  
"I don't know what the hell you're talking about, but here. Eat." Stan slapped the PB & J into Rick's unsuspecting hand, and Rick began to devour it, hunching over it like he was being protective of it, scarfing down bite after bite. Stan had just finished slapping on the top slice to a new sandwich when Rick reached over the counter and shoved it into his mouth.  
  
"Mffph. Kinda dry. Could use more jelly," Rick mumbled, some light brown at the corner of his mouth, when he slumped over the counter using his extended arm as a pillow and fell dead asleep, still gripping onto the last bit of crust. Stan took it out and popped it into his own mouth.  
  
"Rick," Stan tested, jostling his shoulder. Rick didn't even groan and swat him away like he usually would. "Rick. Honey."  
  
Rick remained completely asleep, so Stan lifted him into his arms with a grunt and carried him off to his bed. Stan sat with him and gently rubbed his back for a while.  
  
"Rick," Stan tried again, smoothing his palm down in broad circles over his back.  
  
"Mmnnf," Rick groaned, shoving his face into his pillow. "God, my _head_."  
  
"Something's wrong with you," Stan continued his slow loop on Rick's back. "I've never seen you like this before. Rick, are you okay?"  
  
"I'm fine." Rick snapped, maybe a little too harshly. He sighed and the tensed muscles in his face finally relaxed. "Don't worry about me, Stanley, I-I-I got this shit under control."  
  
"Are you still good to come on this road trip?" Stan rubbed up and down his arm now. "You don't have to come with me. You could stay here and rest up. I don't know what's going on with you, but- baby, I'm worried. About you."  
  
"It's nothing." Rick dismissed quietly. "Yeah. I'm still coming with you, Brawns, I wouldn't miss it for the world."  
  
"That's exactly why I'm worried." Stan grunted. "Now, tell me what's going on with you."  
  
"It's—" Rick sighed. What, Nothing? Stan would press him until he gave an answer. And he remembered how it felt to see Mirror hide everything from his Stan, how Rick told himself he'd never do that. "I had another Rick's memories transferred into my head. Three year's worth of memories."  
  
"A council member?" Stan lifted an eyebrow at him.  
  
"Yep. Just... some random Rick. Doesn't matter. I got info out of him, that's what matters." Rick lied through his teeth, and his hands started to twitch in his lap. "I've done this before, okay, I'm- I can handle it. Just- _hnnn_. Grab my notebook. Quick." 

Rick knew that his lie wouldn't hold up for long with Stan, but he told himself he'd have to deal with that later. Stan eyed him suspiciously but went to get him a notebook and pen, and Rick continued to scribble manically in his notebook while in his bed, flipping papers quickly with loud rustles after he'd finished filling each page to the brim with information. It wasn't long before he passed out again with his pen in his hand, mid-sentence, drooling on the page.

Stan wrestled the pen out of his grip and let him sleep.

"Hang in there, Rick." He whispered, passing his hand over the side of his head, his ear, his sunken cheek. 

Stan rummaged through all of his drawers and packed his own stuff, and also packed up Rick's bag for him. He knew exactly which clothes and things he'd need by now, and made sure to include all the warmest things. He'd checked the weather reports, and Oregon was still snowing pretty hard up North where they were headed.

He needed to keep his hands busy if he wanted to get rid of the nerves jittering under his skin: it was pretty much a straight shot up the I-5, and once they got in the car, it was only going to be about twelve to fourteen hours of driving, until Stan was going to see his brother in the flesh, after so many years apart.

Stan zipped up his red duffle and sat next to it, holding his whiskery cheek and staring at his twin's PLEASE HELP postcard again. He was already worried sick about his brother after that weird phone call, and the added stress about his boyfriend's strange, manic state certainly wasn't helping either.   

"Don't worry, Ford." Stan told the postcard. "We'll be there soon. Hang in there for me, Sixer."   

* * *

 "No smoking rule, okay? I don't want to reek like cigarettes when I see him." Stan dumped his ratty red travel duffle into the trunk, next to Rick's light blue roller suitcase.  
  
"Yeah. Cool." Rick seemed distracted, unable to make eye contact with Stan as he waited by the door and tugged at the handle over and over impatiently. His lack of sleep was apparent by the intense darkness under his eyes.   
  
"God, what are you, six? Be patient!" Stan chuckled, slamming the trunk with a squeal and taking out the keys with a jingle. "Here." He tossed them to Rick, in an easy parabola.  
  
Rick missed them, and they fell with a clink to the pavement. Rick stared at them blankly for a moment before kneeling to pinch them off the concrete, and jammed them into the door like he was angry.  
  
"Hey. I know you can use both hands equally, and that was a good toss. What happened to seeing trajectories?" Stan pointed out, grabbing the side of the door before Rick could pull it closed. "Shit, Rick. You still don't look so good. You sure you're okay?"  
  
"Yeah, yeah." Rick bobbed his head and avoided Stan's eyes, just settling into the passenger's seat with his hands placed over his stomach. "I'm good. It's fine. Let's hit the road, Jack."

Stan decided to trust him, and started up the car.

Only about twelve more hours until he finally saw Ford.

The silence and the radio could only last for so long. Stan cleared his throat and side-eyed Rick as they puttered along. Rick had his nose buried in his notebook, writing rapidly on each page again, the pen scrawling away at an impressive rate. Rick batted a finished page to the side and continued his frantic scribbling on the next one.  
  
"You know, you're going to have to say what's bothering you sooner or later." Stan finally spoke up. "We're stuck in this hunk of metal together for another twelve hours or so."  
  
"Yeah." Rick didn't look up from where he bent over his notes, still writing away with the faint scratching of his pen.  
  
"Rick..." Stan used his warning tone. "We're supposed to trust each other."

Rick didn't reply, only kept on writing. 

" _Rick!_ " Stan barked. "Can you cut that out for a minute?"   
  
"It makes my head feel like it's being crushed between two boulders if I do, but fine." Rick snapped it shut and shoved it off of his lap, firmly crossed his arms and scowled. "Stan, of course I trust you. I've told you things I've never told anyone else, even other Ricks, okay?!"

"What made you so upset the other day?" Stan asked. "You looked like you'd been crying for hours. And I know that these memories you're talking about _isn't_  just from some random Rick. So, what's going on?"   
  
"Okay. Fine." Rick's lips sagged into a deep frown. "But you can't get all sad and shit and ruin this road trip. Because this was supposed to be fun."

The air blared loudly as it passed over the exterior of the car, and the talk radio garbled from its low volume.  
  
"Rick, what is it?" Stan's expression fell. He knew, all of the sudden. "Oh my god. It's Bubblegum, isn't it?"  
  
Rick said nothing, just stared forward at the road, his eyelids drooping from exhaustion.  
  
"The Council caught up to him? Well, we've got to go bail him out or-or something—! We can postpone this thing a few days, alright, we can turn around, we can-"  
  
"No, Stan." Rick bit down hard on his teeth. "He died."  
  
"What?! How? _When?_ " Stan was in disbelief.  
  
"Y-Yesterday." Rick hugged onto his arms and ducked his head, and sniffed just once.  
  
"Yesterday? _Yesterday?!_ And you didn't tell me right away? Rick-" Stan's grip had increased on the steering wheel, he looked horrified. "How?!"  
  
"Bullet to the brain." Rick's voice wavered when he spoke up again. "It was _me_ , Stan. I did it. I shot him through the head, and let this stupid fucking— sea anemone planet eat him, okay?! He probably doesn't even taste good! We barely even have any meat on us anyway, he was probably like a fucking... cookie crumb to that huge thing!"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Stan's voice rose in volume, he was nearly booming, his hands strangling the wheel. "Rick, give this to me straight, is he dead, or-or not?!" 

"He's dead." Rick answered, his voice strained. He pressed the back of his hand over his eyes to try and stop it, but it was too late, he could already feel the tears welling up hard in his ducts. "He's dead, Stan." Rick repeated, his voice warbled hard.

"No," Stan whispered in disbelief, tears welling up in his eyes, too. "C'mon, Rick. Tell me this is a joke." 

Rick just clamped his lips down into a thin line, and shook his head once from side to side. He was almost the most vulnerable Stan had ever seen him when he slid over close to Stan, hugged onto his side and slipped his legs to extend over his lap. Stan continued to drive, and thanked his lucky stars that the road ahead was straight for a long time, because it was getting hard to see with all the water blurring over his vision. 

Rick sniffed again, wrapped his arms around Stan's torso and smushed his cheek up against his shoulder. 

Stan took one hand off of the wheel and folded it upward to rest on Rick's back. "It's his memories, too, isn't it?" 

Rick nodded against his shoulder, sniffling loudly now. 

"The Council, they would have-" Rick croaked, unable to steady his voice for very long. "He wanted me to. B-Begged me to do it."

Stan roughly swiped at his leaking eyes, narrowing them to focus on the road. He slammed the off button on the radio, and the low volume of talk radio cutting off seemed to make it even worse.

Rick squeezed even tighter to his side, and the two of them just cried quietly together, not exchanging another word for miles.

When the tears stopped, Rick clambered off of Stan and shoved himself far into the other side of the car, leaning heavily on the door, suddenly not wanting to be touched anymore. A memory nudged up at him, demanding to be let in. Rick had learned by now to just sit back and let it happen; the more he resisted, the more it would hurt when it forced its way in. He closed his eyes and leaned back into the passenger's seat, breathing slowly in and out as his head throbbed with the new information.

Rick had been absolutely sated after a long session sandwiched between Stan and Bubblegum, and he'd buried himself deep into the twisted blankets. Right, this had been one of those times the three of them had hooked up when Rick had nearly been blacked out drunk. This had to be only about a week ago.

"You good?" Stan called after him from the kitchen, laughing when Rick stuck up a thumbs up before plopping it back down, head rolling, drunk as a skunk and very ready for sleep.

"Heh. We should just let him crash," Bubblegum hiked his thumb back to his bed, smirking at Stan. "That was fun."

"Yeah. We make a good team." Stan smiled up at Bubblegum, it was a different expression than Rick was used to seeing from him, it was clear Stan saw Bubblegum as a good friend of his. "Not gonna lie, I love seeing him come apart like that."

"Same." Bubblegum answered without a beat. "He's so fucking dramatic with it, though, isn't he? Moaning and panting the whole time. He's always squirming around like the drama king he is."

"Hey, that's my boyfriend you're talking about." Stan joked: maybe a little defensive, though. "Ehh, I already know he sorta plays it up. It's kind of hot, though."

"Never said it wasn't." Bubblegum smirked at him, clapping him on the shoulder. Stan raised his eyebrows and pointed, smirking right back. They both threw their heads back and laughed, Bubblegum's hand still firmly clamped to Stan's shoulder.

"Let's go grab a beer or somethin', B." Stan smiled a little unsurely at him. "I don't know if we've ever hung out, just me 'n you."

"Y-Yeah. Okay." Bubblegum was pretty flattered by the invitation. Rick's lips ticked into a soft smile where he lay with his eyes closed. He never even knew that any of this had happened.

The two of them went to their usual bar on foot, chatting in the slightly awkward way that two people who aren't quite comfortable with their friendship yet speak to each other. That went away fast enough when you put alcohol into the mix, Rick always found. So of course, his alternate had the same idea.

On their walk back home, Bubblegum was pretty plastered, and he leaned heavily onto Stan for support, arm crooked over his shoulders.

"Okay okay, how 'bout this. I'll start rimming him, while you're teasing the head of his cock with your tongue, but don't take it in yet. So then, w-we sync it up and I'll slip that first finger in at the same time that you take him into your mouth-"

"Uh-huh, yeah, I'm liking where this is going." Stan replied, clearly enthusiastic. "Then, what if we both fingered him at the same time, yeah?"

"Oh fuuuck, Stanley, you're really onto something there." Bubblegum had to stifle a soft moan. "Link pinkies though, so we don't mess up the rhythm. Like this," Bubblegum threaded his pinky into Stan's, and they both pressed their pointer fingers together, pumping forward and back in the air.

"He'll love it." Stan grinned up at him. "I can imagine it now."

"Fuck yeah, can't wait to try it out." Bubblegum jostled Stan's shoulders. "I love doing this shit. This is the most fun I've had in-in _years_."

Stan laughed at that, and Bubblegum scrubbed playfully at his hair.

"You really don't mind sharing him, do you?" Bubblegum asked. "You just want him to feel good. Make him happy."

Stan stopped in his tracks, and just nodded, suddenly growing quite serious.

"Holy shit. You're in love with him, aren't you?" Bubblegum regretted asking instantly, but alcohol loosened the lips and it was already said, so there was nothing he could do to take it back. Stan's flustered expression before he dropped his chin to his chest made Rick's heart squeeze and then beat a little faster.

"Come on, you can tell me. I won't go tattling on you or anything." Bubblegum took his chin between two fingers and lifted, Stan's puppy dog eyes met his. "This is between me and you. Y'know, like how Rogue usually is. Heyy-yo!"

Stan chuckled at that, raking his fingers through his messy hair. It was hard to see when it was this dark out, but Stan was definitely flushing.

"Yeah." Stan finally grunted, shoving his fingers into the hair at the crown of his head again. "I'm... yeah. I'm pretty sure that's what this is."

"I _knew_ it." Bubblegum said, grinning. "I see it all over your face. You're in deep, here, buddy."

"I already know that." Stan snapped at him. The pink on Stan's face had spread and deepened in color. "Fuck, BG, I didn't know it was going to be like this. _Feel_ like this."

"God, you're whipped." Bubblegum couldn't help but chuckle, and the two continued to walk together. "Mirror's was the same way, you know."

_Mirror_ , Bubblegum thought with a sudden stab of pain through his chest. _I'll join you soon enough_.

Stan's expression grew concerned all of the sudden, and he reached out to touch Bubblegum's arm. "Whoa, hey, you okay? You'd tell me if there was something wrong, right Bubblegum?" 

"Yeah. Sure, Stan."  Bubblegum had been just thinking about that damned planet again, he wanted to give himself to it so badly it ached in his chest. 

"Goddammit," Rick sighed, finally letting his eyes fall open again, to the brightness and bleak, yellow desert landscape on either side of the I-5 freeway. He felt tears welling up again in his already burning and swollen tear ducts. He knew it wasn't possible, but why had this particular memory suddenly pushed its way into his head without an explanation? To tell Rick that Stan had admitted that he loved him? To what, make him feel a little less shitty that he'd just shot his friend and let an alien drag away and eat his corpse?

There was no afterlife, and memories were going to keep coming to him without rhyme or reason for a few weeks, maybe a month after the transfer. He knew this, he'd done this before with a different Rick, and that was for a lot longer than three years.

_No rhyme or reason,_ Rick told himself firmly. _The afterlife- any kind of afterlife- it's not possible. You know this. You're searching for meaning where there isn't any. Bubblegum is **dead** , and if you think he's communicating with you through this, you're an idiot._

Exhausted and worn out and only in the first stretch of their trip, Stan drummed his fingers on the dash and drove with one hand, and the leg he wasn't driving with bobbed rapidly at the knee. He jittered silently for as long as he could bear it.  
  
"Shit," Stan finally wound up admitting in defeat. "I really need a smoke."  
  
"Yeah. Me too." Rick replied dryly, he'd finally started to slow down with his writing as he carefully drew the curving upward line on a wavy graph.  
  
"I need one _bad_." Stan emphasized. He knew he might have some, somewhere in the car... he could barely believe he'd even held off for this long.

"Forget the stupid rule. We can just steal an air freshener from the next gas station." Stan said hastily, but he knew full well how the smell of tobacco clung to clothing no matter what. 

"Y-Yeah. We can just do that." Rick was quick to agree with him, fishing out the pack and slipping out two with slender fingers. Rick lit his first, then jammed the tip of the second one to his and passed it off to Stanley.

"...Remember how he said he worked on a research team with other Ricks? Studying brainwaves and how they work?" Rick mumbled quietly, his white cigarette jumping in his mouth with every word. He tapped at his temple. "I have that now. Almost all of it."

"So, that's what you've been writing away at like a maniac?" Stan asked, sighing out a large, curling white cloud. His scanned the roads, increased their speed and shot through the gap in two cars ahead. 

"Mm," Rick just hummed, dragging his thin fingers through his brown hair starting at the top of his head. He seemed hesitant, his exhausted eyes flicking to his notebook again. Stan could see the way that the puffiness under his eyes pressed up against the skin, creating an arc over his upper cheeks.

"It really hurts you that much, huh?" Stan took a hand off of the wheel and his fingertips skimmed along the outside of Rick's wiry arm. "I really hate to see you in pain like this, Rick."

"The more I write down, the less it hurts. I either write, or have to say it, either way, it has to get let out somehow." Rick explained simply, sticking his tongue out as he drew the x and y axis on a graph with two practiced strokes. "I-I've nearly written it all out. I can tell you about it tonight."

Stan drove with the determination of an ox, they only went off of their path for greasy burgers and fries and even then they went through a drive-thru. Rick only glanced up from his work to occasionally stick limp fries into his mouth.

Stan kept trucking forward even when the sky had gone dark, and seemed to break out of his trance only when Rick's hand joined his on the steering wheel and guided it to the side, to an patch of dirt off the side of the road that would be the perfect place to crash for the night.

Stan blinked blearily at the dashboard. 2:27 AM. He had no idea that it had actually gotten that late, he'd been so lost in his own head, fretting about Ford for the entire drive. 

Stan kept the car battery on and they turned up the heat: they were further north now, and the air was much nippier than it was before. All of the metal in the car's frame seemed to eat up a lot of the warmth, too. 

Silently, Stan and Rick clambered into the back seat and Stan snuggled up to Rick from behind. They didn't say anything to each other, the only sounds were the rustles and friction of dragging fabrics. Stan spooned him close and wrapped his arms around him, and pushed their legs into the gaps of the other's. Both of them were exhausted and had something on their minds, their position felt less romantic and a lot more like the clinging two were all each other had in the world. It was still too cold, and Stan could feel Rick shivering against him while they waited for the car's shitty heater to kick it into high gear.

Stan hesitated before kissing the hairless space just behind his ear. Rick might have been cranky after being cramped in the car for so long, Stan certainly was feeling that way.

"How's your head feeling?" Stan asked softly.

"Better," Rick sighed into the darkness, his diaphragm expanding up against Stan's chest.

"I never should have brought you." Stan berated himself, mumbling into Rick's shoulder blade and tightening his arms around him. "You should be resting."

"Sitting around in the passenger's seat, sitting around at home, same difference." Rick muttered, and Stan could hear his teeth chittering together as his thin limbs shuddered in his arms. Stan held him closer, hoping his body heat would help. Rick sighed at the pressure of the embrace, tracing a slow circle on the back of Stan's hand with his thumb.

"I'm nervous to see Ford," Stan told the back of Rick's head of wild hair. "I can't believe that's gonna be tomorrow." 

Rick just continued to stroke the back of his hand, before intwining their fingers in that familiar way of his, an unspoken reassurance. Stan smiled against the back of his neck, pressing his curved lips there. 

"I'm gonna miss Bubblegum." Rick heaved a sigh so large Stan could feel the way his chest shrank inside his arms. 

"Yeah." Stan cleared his throat, hoping to try and get rid of the sharp rush of pain up his nostrils. He didn't want to cry again, but that's exactly what was happening, and fast. Stan heard Rick sniffle, and that was it for him. He buried his face into Rick's hair and felt the tears burning up out of his tear ducts again, and Rick's body jumped in his arms, and they cried silently together for the second time that day.  

Finally, the heat had increased enough for Rick to stop shivering, and the pocket of air in the car was warm enough for Stan to get up and finally turn the car battery off and take the key out from the ignition. He opened up the driver's side door and climbed out into the cold night air to open up the trunk.

"Here," Stan reached up to the ceiling and flicked on the car light, then handed Rick his ratty red fleece jacket, with grease and pit stains and a couple of patches sewn onto tears in the back. "It's going to get colder tonight, but we can't keep the heat on all night or the battery'll die."

Rick took it with a meek smile and bundled up, flipping the hood up over his head, laying down and curling into his knees. 

"There was something you said you wanted to tell me, earlier, right?" Stan asked, hooking his legs over the seat and climbing back to join Rick in the back again. Stan's face was a wreck, his eyelids puffy and pinching shut around his pink eyes. Rick didn't look much better, stretched out in the backseat with a defeated hunch in his shoulders. It was impossibly dark outside, Stan imagined this was what it must have been like to be in a boat with a hanging lantern with nothing but dark ocean surrounding them for miles.

"Mm." Rick simply hummed, his lack of sleep clearly wearing him thin. Rick reached under the passenger's seat to pull out the notebook and rifled through some of the pages, finally landing on the one he wanted and lightly dragged his fingertips over the diagrams of what looked like dividing cells and a flurry of math equations scribbled in blue pen.

"Identical twins occur randomly," Rick began, laying back down on Stan's broad chest. "In around two percent of births. It doesn't run in families, or genes, or-or even really make sense for why the split happens. But it happened to you." 

"Yeah." Stan blinked at the dim overhead light, his eyes were still sore. "But there's not too many of me out there, though, are there?" 

"Stan- the conditions to create a neutralizer like you are so statistically low that it's almost impossible. Your existence can only happen when a genius's existence happens- they're tied together. All neutralizers have to form under the same conditions, the same _almost impossible_ conditions." 

"Yeah? Come on, Rick, you know this would just be easier on both of us if you spelled this out. So get on with it already." Stan replied grouchily under Rick.

"The only way that someone can emit neutralizing brainwaves is... if they're the identical twin to a genius. They're calling it an inverse pair." Rick explained, before shifting in his arms and lifting up on his elbows, propping himself just above Stan's chest. "I'm gonna ask you the same question I asked you before. Do you believe in fate?" 

"I don't know anymore." Stan reached up and petted at Rick's thick hair, finally a small smile sneaking its way onto his face. "My idea about it's changed since I met you." 

"Geniuses are rare. That means that neutralizers are even _more_ rare. It's hard to understand how impossible this all is, that we even met. But this is the one thing the research team just couldn't crack. Twins aren't... their own best masking pair. It works well enough, but their brainwaves are never mathematically perfect opposites."

"But- they're twins." Stan countered, feeling like he was in over his head whenever Rick tried to explain these kinds of things to him. He hoped he was keeping up well enough, he didn't want Rick to think he was any stupider than he already was.

"I know. It's weird. But geniuses will have a different, unrelated, one true match for them, somewhere out there on the planet. So, your brother Ford will have his own perfect neutralizing match somewhere out there. But Stan... you're my perfect match. My one true neutralizer. They proved it." Rick smoothed his hand down the outside of Stan's arm, where it extended to grip onto his waist. "They really proved it, BG's research team, that your brainwaves are the perfect inverse to mine." 

Stan froze in place, his eyebrow rising high on his forehead. "What do you mean? You mean, we're...?" 

"Statistically, we never should have even crossed paths. But something that even a whole group of Ricks couldn't understand brought us together, something science or math can't explain, brought almost every single one of us across universes together." Rick traced a loop along Stan's arm, his eyes downcast. The yellow car light carved strange shadows into his sallow face. 

"How's that possible," Stan breathed, feeling his breath catching in his throat. 

"It's really not. We can't explain it, even when we puts the heads of a whole team of Ricks together. It's just-"

"Fate." Stan finished for him quietly. "Do you really think so?"

"Bubblegum did." Rick rubbed at his head of wild hair. "And these are his memories, so they're all tainted with that opinion. But..." He reached out and touched Stan's jaw, feather-light, and tipped his face to look at his. "Yes." He hissed in a soft whisper. "Yeah, I do now. I believe it now."   

His spindly hand resting on Stan's knee and then dragged up, moved to his inner thigh, palming at the front.

"You were..." Rick swallowed, not sure if he would be able to say it aloud. 

"Say it." Stan urged quietly, his eyes wide with disbelief. "I want to hear you say it." 

"Mathematically...I m-mean-" 

" _Rick._ "

"You were made for me." Rick finally said, and he couldn't keep his hands away from Stan's face, from touching his body.

Stan slid to sit up in his seat with disbelief, the two couldn't keep their hands off of each other. Their faces angled at each other's, Rick's brow was crumpled up in an unusual, overwhelmed expression that Stan wasn't used to seeing from him.

Stan's eyes fell all the way shut, he pulled Rick in closer and his large palm slipped up under his shirt and dragged along the heated bare skin, slowly up from the base of his spine.

Rick tilted his head and closed the gap between them, Stan's mouth already parted and waiting for him to start sucking slow and soft. Stan's hands snuck up and cupped Rick's waist, before he folded them at the elbows to stripe bars over Rick's slim frame and drew Rick in closer, wrapping him up in his arms and pressing them flush chest to chest, and they slipped down to lay horizontal over the seat.

The wet smacks turned into a soft suction and a smacking click as Rick pulled away.

"Open your eyes," Rick murmured into his ear, peppering open-mouthed kisses that left wet little prints on his cheek, trailing closer until it was at his smile line, the very corner of his mouth, finally dragging along to slot their lips together again. Stan tentatively let his lids fold open. His were open too: he was met by that familiar set of deep cacao-brown, so wickedly intelligent, the permanent grayish-violet tone to the skin underneath them, shiny like polished dark buttons, just barely lidded with his affection.

The view seemed to steal Stan's breath for a moment, and the next time he breathed it was a breathy intake, quiet to the car but loud for the two of them. Rick's tongue slipped inside his mouth, warm and gentle but guiding, and Stan's lips parted more to welcome it.

Stan felt everything in his body go all melty, and Rick draped languidly over him, one hand curled limp near Stan's head and the other skimming and coming to a rest along the curve of his bicep. Stan's arms still wrapped around him, much looser, palms pressed to either side of his spine.

Their tongues touched, probed, licked across one another, explored lazily.

Stan's breathy pants and the soft smacks and suckles filled his ears, drowned the whole rest of the world out, it was like it was just the two of them, cramped together in this stolen car on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere.

Rick was being so tender with him, he'd stopped with his tongue and was now just pressing closed-mouth kiss after kiss, each brief smooch pressed squarely on his mouth before lifting away again, then surprising him when it came back over and over.

The thought passed Stan's mind that it could have been a cruel joke. Rick would pull away any second now, laughing at him for falling for it, his whole dumb spiel about fate and perfect waves. He'd say some real cutting remark, something really snarky, wouldn't he?

"Stan?" Rick pulled away when he sensed it, but still kept his lips hovering close. The tips of their pliable noses nudged, waxy and a little cool. "Babe, something wrong?"

It wasn't a joke.

Stan pulled him in closer, his chin lifting and the momentum smushed their faces and mouths together again.

Stan kept his eyes shut again, just melting back into the leather seat and enjoying the warmth and wetness and the tingling in his nerves. Rick's fingers expectedly threaded into the gaps in Stan's hand, and Stan's lips stretched upward along the corners before Rick's slick tongue prodded and slipped inside again through the seam.

Stan squeezed their held hands, sucking in a breath through his nose as his chest sort of puffed out- damn, Rick was such a good kisser. It was like he was taking care of him: each kiss was delivered like a gift, pressed up softly and saying _here you go, baby_. It left him reeling, like the dizziness after a long session on a tire swing.

 _Here, baby.  
Here._  
_And here--and here--_

They parted, panting softly, faces still pulled toward one another like magnets, Rick slipped off from on top of him and they tangled side-by-side.

Stan caressed his hand up to Rick's asscheek again, slipped under the waistline of his pants and dipped his fingertips into the warmth of its crack, massaging his hole in pressured circles.

"Do you-?"  
  
Rick moaned quietly and arched into the touch, pressing Stan's fingertips harder against the ring of muscles.  
  
"Yeah, mmm." Rick huffed, rocking back against his finger again. He clung close to Stan, biting down on his lip to keep himself from moaning too loud too early in the game, he rocked back into it and Stan smirked at him as he pushed in slowly, still teasing him with a shallow depth.

Rick arched up into him, trying to get more, get the digit in deeper. He moaned softly as Stan obliged, sinking in up past the second knuckle.  
  
"Stop smirking at me like you own my ass," Rick snapped at him playfully. "Cuz y-you donOhhh god." His eyelids fluttered and his hand squeezed his bicep when Stan pushed in much further. "God _dammit_ you have thick fingers."

Stan continued with the incessant smirking, he shifted the finger inside Rick's body, pushing it in, easing it out, pushing in again, finding a slow and deep rhythm to it. Rick leaned up a little higher against Stan's body, pressing a kiss underneath his whiskery chin and shoving his hand under his shirt, palming his chest, running his hand down the dip in Stan's side, over the soft fold that formed there from the slight chub. He held his hand there at his hip, thumbing soft circles over the pale skin as Stan continued to fuck his finger into him from under his clothes, pistoning at a deep, even pace.

Rick let out a soft keen and pulled in much closer to his chest, his mouth open and wet against the hollow of Stan's neck. Stan slipped in a second finger, and Rick's hand squeezed down on his arm again as he burned and stretched around the new addition.  
  
Stan continuing to pump deep and slow with two fingers now. Rick was biting down on his lip hard and rocking himself back against Stan's hand.  
  
"Y-Yeah," Rick moaned, spreading his legs open wider and rocking the tented front of his pants up against Stan's hip. "Ah, fuck. _Can't_ \--you do the talking."  
  
"Feels good?" Stan asked softly into his head of shaggy brown hair, kissing the crown of it, pressing in deep and prodding his prostate, earning a sharp intake and soft moan low in his chest. "So, I'll take that as a yes."  
  
"Sh-shut up," Rick nearly moaned, gyrating his hips into Stan's hand between his legs. "Faster."  
  
"Bossy." Stan grunted playfully, but did just that and picked up the pace, relying more on his elbow for a lot more force. Rick responded with soft panting, his hand permanently squeezing around Stan's thick upper arm now.

They breathed together, faces so close they shared a lot of the same air, and suddenly they were kissing again, lazy and slow and open-mouthed.  
  
They parted, Stan catching his breath and just looking at Rick, drinking in his face a few inches away from his with the smallest of smiles on his face. Stan cupped his unoccupied hand to his thin face, to the flattened part of his cheek just underneath his cheekbone.

Stan stared, unblinking, the shininess in his eyes giving away just how enamored he was.  
  
"God, you're beautiful." Stan whispered, pushing in deep at the same time and crooking his fingers directly to where he knew his G-spot was. Rick's head rolled back along with his fluttering eyes, and Stan's hand slipped down at the motion to his neck.

"You're really my match..." Stan brushed his hand over a spot on his neck and captured it into his lips, sucking a hickey hard against the skin with soft smacks. "I can feel it. Just how we felt it my first time." He pulled away for just long enough to mumble before returning to it. Stan slipped in a third finger and Rick grunted into his mouth and nipped down on his lip.  
  
"How're you feeling?" Stan asked softly, curiously.  
  
"Jesus Christ, Stanley, this third one is pushing me over the fucking edge," Rick whined, and so Stan pushed in deep one last time before slipping everything out.  
  
"Flip over. On your back." Stan commanded, and Rick did just that, his dick was painfully hard as it strained against the fabric, precum making a darkened mark on the front of his pants. He bit down on his fist to restrain from touching himself.

Stan took Rick's knees and spread open his legs, then took a seat between them.  
  
"Finish in my mouth." Stan ordered again, and to his surprise Rick looked even more turned on by the tone of voice as he bit down on a knuckle of his fist. Rick nodded wordlessly.

Stan ripped down the zipper, freeing the erection with a bob. Stan grabbed fistfulls of the fabric and yanked it further down. He took both globes of Rick's flat and pale ass into his hands, thick fingers dimpled around whatever fat actually existed there, and took him deep into his mouth.

Rick's hands settled on his head not long after as Stan bobbed slow, rocking his whole body forward and back with the motion. Rick twisted his fingers deep into his overgrown hair and his hips jerked with short thrusts.  
  
"ShitshitStan I'mgonnaa- _aa_ \--." Rick came, hips stuttering, and Stan swallowed it all, teasing and lapping at the sensitive reddened head before running his hands up and down Rick's trembling thighs and sitting back between them. After lying there huffing and collecting himself, Rick hoisted himself up with a fist to the seat, zipped up, and the two leaned onto the seat on one side, and just faced each other.

"I feel guilty that you didn't get to come," Rick admitted, tracing four fingers in a spiral along Stan's pec. "I can return the favor, if-"

"Look- I liked this. I didn't even know not having real sex could be this good." Stan smiled shyly, his hand skimming down the outside of Rick's thigh, then slipped behind the crook of his knee and he was strong enough to slide him in much closer just pulling him in like that, and they continued to just touch and run their hands over each other, like they were mapping each other out with their fingertips.

Rick leaned in close and sucked at his neck, trailing his warm tongue up to tease and bite at his earlobe, nipping and kissing all along his neck.

"Rick..." Stan said softly, holding the back of his head to his neck.

"Why don't you just cure me." Stan suddenly blurted, taking Rick off guard.

Rick pulled away from his neck and gave him a quizzical look.  
  
"I've wanted to ask you that for a long time." Stan continued. "It would be easy for you. I bet you could fix the problem in five minutes, if you wanted to. I could be normal, we could fuck all the time like there was nothing different about me."  
  
"How would you have me do it, then, Stan?" Rick asked quietly, his heart sinking. "Huh?"  
  
"I dunno." Stan sighed and sank to his side, resting his head on the seat, hair flopped over his eyes. "Find a version of me who's in a coma or something and cut out a piece of his brain and put it into mine? Inject me with testosterone? I don't know... there's gotta be a- a deficiency or something, right? Fuck..." Stan laughed bitterly, lifting the hair up out of his eyes. "Why are you even asking me? You're the genius one who would know how!"  
  
Rick remained silent.  
  
"Say something, Rick, dammit!" Stan's voice warbled and shook. "Listen, I don't want to _be_ this way anymore!"  
  
That silence stretched, each moment that it reigned it got thicker and thicker, like it would be even harder to break through it.  
  
Stan hugged his arms to his chest and just stared out his window into the darkness outside their little enclosed space, lit with only the dim yellowish light of the car lights overhead.  
  
"I just don't get it." Stan finally began again. "I thought this would just all... damn, I don't know, _fall into place_ when I found someone like you. I thought maybe I was a late bloomer or something stupid." Stan shook his head. "That it would just magically happen when I felt like this about someone."

"I kept wanting to try. Not with anyone else, with you. But then I was just- trying, and trying, and trying again. And it's not falling into place like I thought it would. My feelings for you, Rick, they're there, I mean-" He scoffed and interrupted himself, raking his fingers through his hairs at the crown of his head. 

"Wow, they're really, _really_ there. But still-" Stan looked away and dipped his head, and impulsively Rick reached out, his fingertips trailing over his cheek, his palm slipped along his face but the touch was short, indecisive. The hand slipped backward and fingers raked through Stan's thick brown hairs near his ear, tucking a strand away tenderly behind it.

"Maybe sex just isn't something... for me. And no matter how many times I try, that doesn't change. I don't know when it's supposedta, or-or if it ever will." Stan finally looked at him when Rick coaxed him with a gentle pull of two fingers pressed just under his chin. The touch lingered even after he took them away.

"I mean, don't get me wrong Rick, I like it. Doing it with you— it's nice. But I think I like it just because it makes me feel like I'm close to you." Stan's hand rubbed circles along Rick's lower back, slipping over his ass and resting there.  
  
"I have feelings for you, Rick. Ones I've never even thought I could-" Stan trailed off. "I know it's only been a few months since I met you." Stan's body language finally opened up more, he looked at Rick and unfolded his arms. His mouth pulled into an unsure, lopsided grin. "And what a crazy couple of months, huh?"  
  
"Yeah," The very tiny beginnings of a smile started to climb onto Rick's face. "Insane."

Stan sighed again, and pressed his spread hand to cover his face, completely silent for a moment. Not breaking the silence, Rick fished out a cigarette and nudged it into Stan's spread fingers on his face. Stan took the bait, holding it in the crook of two fingers and Rick leaned close to flick on the lighter. Stan breathed his sigh inward this time, the tip of the cig shrinking down quickly and flickering orange.

"You said you're brother's this same way, right?" Rick asked as Stan breathed out a large cloud of smoke. Rick slipped his hand over his thigh and leaned in close.

"He was, yeah. But that was back when we were seventeen. Things coulda changed since then," Stan grumbled, pausing to take yet another deep drag. "Lot's changed since then."

"You'll see him tomorrow." Rick pulled on him gently, coaxing him to lay down next to him. "Maybe you can bring it up with him?" Rick patted the seat, and Stan obliged, the two stretched out and facing each other in the middle.

"Maybe." Stan replied quietly, reaching out and winding his arms around Rick.

All Stan could do was drink in Rick's face there so close to his, he didn't want to turn off the light just because he wanted to keep on looking at him. He took more smoke into his mouth and fed it into Rick's, and Rick breathed it in deep and relaxed at the rush of nicotine.

"Turn that light off." Rick yawned, plucking the cig away from him and putting it out along the bottom of the seat. "Let's sleep now, baby."

Stan flicked it off, and the noises of shuffling clothes seemed much louder in the pitch blackness. Stan did a little fumbling, but was able to find his place next to Rick in the dark. Rick felt Stan's warm fleece encompassing him, Stan's big arms around him. Rick lazily rubbed his upper back until he began to nod off to sleep, and Rick dreamed of red and green planets in orbit, spiraling around each other in a helix, of two plot points that always stayed equidistant from the sun, their birthdays exactly six months apart. He dreamt of two lines on a graph, one Stan's favorite shade of bright red and the other his portal-green, cresting and dipping down low, dancing together and chasing each other, creating perfect loops in their wake.

 _Holy shit. You're in love with him, aren't you?_ Bubblegum's question from that clear-cut memory came back and echoed around in Rick's mind. Stan had already given an answer to it. Rick thought maybe he'd found his answer, too.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Mirror's dimension is X-080 because each of those numbers/letters has both horizontal and vertical symmetry.)  
> And as for the new theory, don't worry, I will definitely be explaining how Morty fits into it in further chapters!  
> Also, this is a visual for what a half-birthday looks like! :) , found on birthdaycalculators.com.
> 
> Chapter 21 should be up pretty soon, since I have a majority of it written down already. Next chapter will finally include Ford and what happens when these two reach their destination of Gravity Falls. I know I'm sort of dragging that out... sorry guys!!! This story is just being really stubborn on me. Thanks a billion for sticking with it <3  
> Also, I recently made a fandom tumblr page, so come find me [ here](https://nanianela.tumblr.com) :)


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings: mention of rape and self-harm. Once again a warning for angst if you're not in the mood for sad. This chapter was pretty hard to get down because _arghhhh_ I've had this ending planned for super long now! Literally a whole year! But it still sorta hurts to finally write it down, haha  
>  Come say hi on my [fandom tumblr if you'd like!](https://nanianela.tumblr.com/)  
> Thanks so much for reading ;)

"Mmf," Stan grunted, running a hand down his face, he could feel the sandpapery stubble scrape against his palm. God, his clothes reeked like the cigarette they'd smoked before falling asleep. So much for that "no smoking rule", but truth be told he knew that idea was doomed from the start. He'd barely slept, and the murky dawn light coming in through all the car windows was much too bright to get back to sleeping again. "Murnin', Rick."

Rick whined quietly, snuggling down deeper and hiding his face. He had the much too large, faded red and threadbare coat burrito'd around him, he was just a tuft of hair and the soft curve of his pale, pierced ear in the sea of tousled chestnut spikes.

"You know, when I dream about you you're hair's still blue." Stan chuckled, clapping his hand to where he guessed Rick's bony shoulder would be under the fleece coat. "Guess I'm still getting used to it."

"I'm in your dreams?" Rick asked in a groggy voice, finally peeking his face out of the fluffy white-lined collar like a turtle. Drool crusted on one of his cheeks.

"Yeah," Stan answered a little shyly, reached out and scraped off the drool from his cheek with one sweep of his fingernail. "Uh... pretty much every night."

He hadn't realized when he'd first said it how that could come off. He was just saying it how it was, but...

Rick finally slipped further out of the coat to walk on his hands to hover over him, and took Stan's chin between his thumb and curled pointer. Of course, Stan knew the look of desire he was giving him by now. Stan wrinkled up his nose and turned his face to the side. "Rick, you really _don't_ want to taste this morning breath. Trust me."

"I drink and smoke enough that my taste buds are shot to shit. And so do you! So-"

"Rick!" Stan belly-laughed, thrashing his face from side to side to avoid it, but Rick planted his spidery hand on his cheek and turned it firmly back toward him, chuckling. 

"No- gross-" Stan continued to laugh, and his words cut off when  Rick planted one on him, all lips and keeping his mouth closed, and Stan couldn't help but feel his chest jump with laughter, and he threw his arm around Rick's narrow hips and kept him laying right there squarely on top of him. The faded red coat slipped further down Rick's downwardly arched back as Rick held Stan's face between two hands. Rick hummed and pressed their lips together again, and Stan felt himself melt back into the car's leather bench seat, his big hand resting over the middle of Rick's back. Rick continued to gently kiss him, with a firmly closed mouth, until-

Stan swallowed back a yelp when Rick's tongue dipped into his mouth in a short and playful jab, and he sat up in Stan's lap with a shit-eating grin, his thighs squeezing either side of his hips, the fleece-lined coat now pooling over Stan's legs. Stan smacked his lips and his face twisted as his expression battled between disgust at the taste and his need to laugh as he looked up at his boyfriend.

"Th-that was actually just as bad for you as it was for me, dog breath." Rick grinned toothily down at him.

"You're nasty." Stan playfully shoved him by the ribs, and Rick almost fell to into the legspace chasm, twiggy legs flailing for purchase, giggling and fisting onto Stan's clothing to break his fall. 

"We should get a move on," Stan smacked his lips a few more times to get rid of the taste, breaking into a smile. He patted twice at one of Rick's asscheeks. "We're still about two hours away. Up and at 'em."

Rick drove this time, and he was leagues better than Stan was at it. Stan pretended not to notice how smooth of a driver Rick was: this was _his_ car, why did Rick have to be the one who handled her better? He even was better than him still when he did it one-handed and high, with a lit joint held in his other hand with his fingerless black gloves. It just wasn't fair.

"Head's hurting again." Rick declared about fifteen minutes later, and pulled off to switch drivers. 

"How bad?" Stan asked from outside of the car, holding open the driver's side door. He squinted, then cocked his head ever-so-slightly to the side. He pointed at Rick. "Wait... you're lying!!" 

"Hey, you spent almost two days in the trunk of this thing." Rick looked stunned that Stan had caught onto him that easily, but it gave way into a smile and a shrug. "It's your car, Stan, I'd say you've earned it." He scooted all the way over, and patted invitingly at the leather. 

Stan climbed in behind the wheel, a huge smile on his face, and slammed the door shut. Rick moved his arm to drape across the back of the seat just above Stan, and he sucked down another cigarette. Stan started up the car, his gaze hardly leaving Rick's face. 

Both of their eyes flew wide when the car jerked roughly backwards, and Stan slammed on the brake to stop it.

"Heh. Whoops," Stan moved the gear shift down a peg out of reverse, and they peeled out onto the road again. Rick just snickered to himself, giving a minuscule shake of his head, and plucked the cig from his mouth and extended it across the car to Stan.  

The pockets of snow first appeared just in shadows, then dirty snow lined the edges of the road, and then very suddenly all around them was blanketed in white. 

When the two of them were just about forty minutes away, Stan swerved the car off to the side of the road just in time to duck his head out of the window and expel vomit to splatter onto the snowy road, bile-yellow falling on top of white. He shuddered from the cold, stinging air and hung out the window with his arms folded under him, breathing in raggedly. His exhales puffed a nearly solid white into the air.

Rick woke up with a few hard blinks, a little disoriented for a moment.  
  
"Hey, whoa, it's just nerves," Rick trailed his hand up his back and rubbed Stan gently, sliding his hand up and down between his shoulder blades. "It's only the nerves."  
  
Stan retched again, his whole body seizing up, and Rick just continued to rub his back up and down as Stan coughed and choked. Stan spat the trickle of stomach acid out thickly and sighed out another cloud of white, hanging partway out of the car as he waited it out. Rick scooted over behind him and wrapped his arms around him, rubbing gently at his stomach beneath the two of them in slow circles.  
  
" _Ugh_ ," Stan spat wetly again, and Rick nuzzled his face to the the back of his neck.  
  
"Relax. Take your time, baby." Rick cooed, continuing to rub his stomach softly. "I know. You're nervous. It's okay."  
  
"I can't do this." Stan shook his head within his folded arms. He spat again, and swiped his mouth roughly with the back of his hand. "I can't. I can't go through with this. We're turning this car around."  
  
Rick pulled away, and Stan sighed into his folded arms.  
  
"Stan. Look at me." Rick said. Stan waited a moment before he turned around to face Rick. Rick practically shoved the postcard right under Stan's nose. "Look at what he sent you. Your brother _needs_ you!" Rick forced Stan to take the postcard again. Stan took it gently between his forefinger and thumb, as carefully as he could, like it was a thin sheet of glass that he might break just by holding it. He'd already looked at it for long enough that he could probably forge the entire thing just going off of memory, but he still took a moment to stare again.

Finally, he looked up from it, meeting Rick's eyes with a very serious expression in his brown eyes.  
  
"Look at how desperate this is. Is he the type to overreact like this? Reach out after years, if he didn't really need you?" Rick poked repeatedly at the multiple exclamation marks. 

"Okay. _Okay_." Stan pulled himself together and nodded, clapping his hand to his face a few times. "Let's keep going. I can keep going."  

Stan locked his jaw for a moment, but Rick knew he wanted to talk about it. 

Stan silently waited out the waves of intense nausea, and finally stared down at the dashboard and twisted key the ignition again, and the car rumbled to life beneath the two of them.

"I haven't seen my brother since..." Stan clamped his mouth shut, stopping himself. His thick brows furrowed as he glared at the road ahead, the bridge of his nose wrinkled too as he unknowingly scrunched his face like he was tasting something sour. He just couldn't bring himself to say it aloud. Guilt felt like he'd swallowed a gallon of cold tar, coating his insides and dripping from his ribs. 

"You said you broke something, huh." Rick dug around in his pockets with his tongue peeking out and fished out the Tracker. "Here. I'm going to prove why you didn't." 

Rick tried to turn the Tracker on, but the screen remained blank. Rick hit buttons rapidly, jabbing it impatiently.

"Maybe it's out of battery?" Stan piped up helpfully, stealing a glance away from the road for just a moment, but somehow that was enough time for them drift sideways and bump over several reflectors on the middle line of the road. If Rick noticed, he didn't say anything.

"Nah, the portal gun's battery is the only thing I haven't pinned down yet, I could power something like _this_ for centuries." Rick hit the side with the flat of his hand. "Wake up, stupid thing!"  

Rick resorted to knocking the machine against the dashboard, in a strangely primal display of frustration, like an animal using a stone to crack open a nut. 

"Turn! _On!_ " Rick grunted, and finally pushed his hair up off of his forehead with a huff of relief when something appeared with a faint blip. "Last fuckin' time I'm digitizing and putting some of _my_ cognition into an A.I. Piece of shit," Rick tipped back and collapsed against the passenger's seat with his ankles crossed up on the dash, squinting at the display. 

Pixels fell like tetris tears, and it was a small face filling the display again.  

ᵕ̣̣̣̣̣̣ ⌓ ᵕ̣̣̣̣̣̣

   
"Great." Rick rolled his eyes. "It's just crying. Again." 

Rick drew in close enough to the microphone so that the Tracker was pressed completely up to his face. "Activate cal-cu-laaator." Rick sounded out very slowly. 

The face on the display flickered away, replaced with words this time.

_ I still miss him... _

"So do I! But the world's still turning, and we have to move- look, I-I stuffed him into a discount honey ham and he's with Bubblegum now, okay? So, calculator."  Rick ran his hand down in face in frustration, but the machine had turned itself off yet again.   

Rick groaned loudly before he finally decided to shove the thing deep down back into his interior pocket. 

"Okay, I _thought_ I could prove it to you, but my Tracker's acting like a _whiny baby_ -" Rick pressed his chin to his chest and spoke to one side of his lab coat, and he lifted his head again to look at Stan. "But last time, remember how you asked me about some kind of science fair project? When I got more specific with the dimensional calculations, it had an error. The same kind of error that shows up when I tried to divide something by zero." 

"Rick, you told me that in half of dimensions, I broke Ford's motion machine." Stan narrowed his eyes. "So quit saying lies to make me feel better. They don't."

"No, Stanley, listen, I promise I'm not lying. I-I don't actually think you broke it, Ford's project, the Tracker said-" 

"Well, that thing ain't exactly reliable, now, is it?" Stan snapped in reply, his fingers tightening around the wheel. Stan's chin trembled ever-so-slightly, and that was it for Rick. He growled low in his throat and punched into his pocket again. 

"I _can_ show you." Rick insisted through interlocked teeth. He started with letting his fingers tickle the buttons, and then when there was no response, he gripped the machine on either side and slammed the Tracker up against the dash like he was trying to break a dinner plate in half, with much more force than before.

Rick's eyes widened and his eyebrows flew high as it cracked, and split motherboard crumbled into his hands and colorful wires flopped out and hung through his fingers like robot intestines.

" _NooOooo!!_ " Rick wailed. His one hand that wasn't holding any of the pieces and parts flew to clap at his forehead, and he stared at the wrecked machine in wide-eyed disbelief. "What the fuck did you just  _do?!_ " 

"What did _I_ do?! This piece of shit wasn't-  _it's not a piece of shit! It's a handheld supercomputer wh-with emotional intellij_ just look at the thing! M-Maybe you should have considered that all it would do is cry wh-when you- _I..._ you designed it!" Rick slid down far into the seat with his feet propped to the dashboard. He covered his eyes and he breathed hard, thrown for a loop.

Stan instantly reached out with only one hand on the steering wheel, and curled his fingers around the meat of Rick's neck. The car began to subtly drift more to the right.

" _Fuuuck_." Rick groaned softly, and he let the broken Tracker go and it tumbled to the car floor, some of the broken pieces clacking softly. Some of the shards had cut into Rick's hand, which he kept palm up with his fingers curled, trembling. He curled them into a tight fist, not caring that he was driving some of the pieces wedged into the skin deeper, and shoved his shaking fist underneath his leg to sit on it. 

"Bubblegum just came out," Stan said quietly, squeezing onto Rick's shoulder again, and began to pull away when Rick pressed his hand over it to keep it in place. He didn't want him to let go.  

"Yeahhh," Rick groaned, and his cheek flopped to the side, to rest on Stan's wrist in defeat. "I guess he did." 

"Rick... are you okay?" Stan asked gently. 

Rick puffed out a resigned breath of air, keeping his eyes shut, and Stan moved his hand over the back of his neck, wrapped him into the crook of his elbow and slid his weight easily across the seat hold him close. He drove with just one hand at 12 o' clock on the steering wheel. Rick covered his eyes by pressing his face up to Stan's shoulder.

"Sleepy?" Stan pressed a kiss to the top of his head, feeling the way his wild and spiky hair brushed over his nose and cheeks. 

"Mm." Rick hummed into Stan's shoulder, then slipped his spidery hand under the hem of his shirt and cupped at his chest, hairy and radiating warmth. Stan jumped slightly, and the next few jumps of his chest against Rick's hand were from his laughter.

"Your hand is ice cold!" Stan chuckled. "You can keep it there, though." 

"I sound crazy, huh." Rick mumbled into Stan's shoulder.

"Not to me." Stan reassured him. "Maybe that's because I know everything that happened. You're just... handling it?"

"Barely," Rick grumbled. "Stan, I _killed_ him! I saw everything, I pulled the trigger, I saw his brains falling out of the back of his skull, I watched that alien drag him away to eat him, but he's... he's _still_ -" Rick gritted his teeth hard and nudged his face much harder against Stan so that it nearly flattened his nose, and his hand squeezed his squishy pec in his grip. He let out a low, frustrated groan. "Is he still alive? In me? In my mind? Is he a part of me now, or-or, am I just being too hopeful, am I..." 

"Relax, hon. You're about to rip my tit off," Stan wheezed, and Rick let his whole body relax and he drooped limply against Stan.

"My mind has the memories of three Ricks in it, now." Rick said, and his hand slipped down to rest against Stan's warm belly under his shirt now. "So... Jesus, who the fuck does that make me?"

" _Relax_ ," Stan hummed, jostling him with his arm still wrapped around his shoulders. "Try not going down that rabbit hole right now, Rick."

"Yeah," Rick agreed weakly, not explaining to him that if he didn't say it aloud, his mind would still go over it again and again, no matter what.

"Try your best to... not think about it, okay?" Stan said. "We're almost there."

The snow made it hard to see anything through its thick white haze, and the thick, dark trunks of trees, bottom-heavy like elephant's feet, on either side seemed to materialize out of nothingness on either side of the road.

Stan hunched over the steering wheel, squinting like an old person. The barbed wire in twists over chain-link fence emerged in the same way out of the thick white, as did the spray painted wood boards warning "No Trespassing!" 

"This must be the place," Stan told Rick, even his voice sounded nervous. 

 _Real homey,_ Rick thought about saying, but held his tongue. Stan was visibly anxious, he held his shoulders stiff and all of his muscles seemed to be clenched at once, and he ground down on his teeth. Stan was so focused on the road ahead that he winced in surprise when Rick's hand pressed over his on the steering wheel, he was trying to be reassuring.

"Geez, this place is a dump." Stan's voice came out in a dry creak. The car crept forward into the swirls of flakes and white haze, both of them unknowingly holding their breaths as they went deeper down the snowy driveway.

There were snow-covered huge metal drums in the snow, spirals of barbed wire everywhere, wood panels nailed in X's over windows: the place didn't look the least bit inviting. The car shuddered into park, and Stan stared blankly ahead at the wooden A-frame, until Rick reached over and twisted the ignition for him to park the stalling car. The silence from the resting engine seemed stifling, and the quietness and stillness froze over the two of them sitting side by side.

"I guess this is it." Stan's tone was hollow, and his hand slipped over the seat and rested in between the two of them, trembling. Rick reached over and placed his smaller hand on top to still it, and Stan let out a very nervous pent-up breath that swirled whitish in the air, and not from cigarette smoke for once.

Rick said nothing, he just reached over the back of the seat to Stan's bag that had spilled his clothes messily everywhere in the back, and grabbed his black mittens for him. Stan took them and pulled them on, taking his time, and finally met Rick's eyes after he'd finished. 

They thumped together into a tight hug, chins pieced over the other's shoulder, Stan's hands bunching up all the excess fabric at Rick's back, wearing his coat. Stan's breath shuddered unevenly out of him, and Rick pulled him in even tighter. 

"This doesn't look good." Stan's face scrunched up over Rick's shoulder and he kept his eyes firmly shut, hoping to stop any tears from coming out. "You should have heard him over the phone, Rick, he sounded as paranoid as that one time you ate that entire brownie batch of edibles." 

"Oof. Really?" Rick commented quietly. "Shiit."

"I should go on my own, for now. Ford might be a little... on edge." Stan pulled away and held Rick's shoulders, and Rick actually looked pretty relieved.    

Rick wrung his hands together in his lap. "I-I-I'll just wait here in the car, Stan."

"Not because-! I want him to meet you, Rick, I promise. I really do. It's just-" 

"I get it," Rick replied, and then stripped off the red coat and handed it to him. Rick was already wearing his thick black leather coat underneath, Stan's coat had been big enough on him to double up.

 "Okay." Stan shoved his arms through the sleeves and closed his eyes, and hesitated with his fingers curled around the door handle. He sat completely frozen for a brief second, lids closed, and then very suddenly set himself into motion. "Okay," He repeated, snapping open his eyes, pulling the hood up over his head and yanking open the door and taking his first crunching step into the thick snow, sinking in shin-deep.

The air was harsh and at bit his face, gales of wind sent swirls of flakes and he could feel them falling to perch in his eyebrows and lashes. Stan finally took a step up the wooden porch. He forced himself to put one foot in front of the other until he'd reached the door, and hesitated before knocking, every puff of air coming out in a white cloud. He worried his bottom lip and let his eyes fall closed yet again. He'd feel a lot better about this whole thing if his boyfriend was beside him, and even though he'd been the one who suggested the opposite, he really wished for the familiar press of Rick at his shoulder again.

"You haven't seen your brother in over five years. It's okay. He's family! He won't bite." Stan tried to reassure himself, and clamped down on his lip and finally rapped his gloved knuckles over the door twice, the same way he'd ask to enter their shared bedroom as a kid.  
  
"Who is it?! Have you come to steal my eyes??" An extremely disheveled Ford pulled in the door, his eyes wide and flashing their whites. He had a terrible 5 o' clock shadow, one that Stan had seen plenty of times on his own face but never on Ford's typically clean-shaven one. His cheeks were a little too concave, his rolling eyes were purpled badly in their sockets. His hair was messy and the roots were sticky with grease. 

He'd armed himself with a crossbow, which he was pointing directly at Stan now. He wore his black tie very loose around his neck, and his white button-up shirt was unbuttoned all the way down to the middle of his chest, a few hairs peeking out. Ford usually wore it all the way up to the topmost button, even when it looked like it uncomfortably pinched at his throat around his thick neck. All of it was all kinds of wrong, so un-Ford on every level.   
  
"Well, I can always count on _you_  for a warm welcome." Stan grumbled back.   
  
"Stanley, did anyone follow you? Anyone at all?" Ford spoke under his hand, his manic eyes darting wildly.  
  
"Eh, hello to you too, pal." Stan's eyes dragged to the side, to where he'd parked the car, to where Rick was currently waiting in the not-very-insulated car in the snow. He could always lie and say he'd come alone, but Ford seemed paranoid enough to question the lie. And Stan was too rattled right now to really get into the fibbing 'zone'. What the hell was wrong with his brother? He barely even recognized him!  
  
"Your eyes give it away! They always point to what you hide. What are you hiding? Who came with you?!" Ford stepped out of the house and pushed past the door, he squinted and kept the crossbow firmly pointed at the middle of Stan's chest. "Are you being followed? _Shifty? Is that you?"_

"What? _No!_ And put that thing down, ya hear me? And yeah, I came with someone. He's... waiting in the car." Stan lifted his arm to put a reassuring hand on his brother's shoulder, but he thought better of it and shoved it deep into his pocket instead. A jumpy person and a crossbow didn't usually mix very well, and Ford wasn't the one in front of the arrow.  
  
"Try and just... uh, relax. Actually, I have no idea if that's even possible. Er, I'll be back in a second. I'll go get 'im." Stan hiked his thumb over his shoulder, turned around, and crunched up through the snow, back to the car.

Rick couldn't keep his twitching hands away from his hair, face, and lips. He gnawed nervously on a hangnail, talking to himself in a low, frantic murmur, curled up as tight as he could into a ball. His nervous breaths still clouded white into the air, brushing across the car radio and dash.  
  
"We d-don't know if it can happen, m-m-maybe it's just with Neutralizers, I mean, you don't know that Stan's brother is just as smart as you, y-you're the smartest person the multiverse, right, w-well, he won't measure up, the reaction won't happen, of course not, it has to match, that's why its called congruence, it has to match per-perfectly so that your brainwaves think _his_ are _yours_ and his have to think that _yours_ are _his_ and fuh- **fuck** I just want him to fucking _like_ me, is that too much to--"  
  
Rick was curled up tight, shivering and breathing into his cupped hands. When Stan knocked on the window, Rick jerked from fright.  
  
"Oh, shiiit. Haha. It's just you. I can barely see with all this snow." The tip of Rick's nose was tinted very red from the cold. "I swear I saw a yeti out there, like, five minutes ago. Damn," He squinted at his flask, like he was trying to remember if he put anything into it recently that would have caused him to hallucinate. He snapped out of it, shaking his head. "Hey, wait, why are you back s-so soon?"  
  
Stan climbed into the car, ignoring Rick's whine at letting in more cold air.

"Come in with me," Stan's voice was quiet and not exactly demanding. He hung his head, turned almost completely away from Rick.

"I've never met another genius before, Stanley. What if-" Rick drummed on the dashboard now, each pad of his finger flitting nervously. "We're rare, Stanley. I can't even emphasize how rare we are. So, sorry for being a little intimidated."

Stan shot him an angry look and remained firmly seated.

"A-and he's also your identical twin brother, so maybe... dammit, I really don't like to be judged, alright?" Rick couldn't look Stan in the eye, and he turned his face away in shame, crossing his arms over his chest and hiding his freezing hands in his armpits. He was quiet for a long time, uncomfortably long.   
  
Rick covered his face with both hands. " _Stan_ ," He sighed. Rick had no idea if the resonance really would wind up happening, but Rick was so repulsed by his own mind, thoughts, memories, so if anyone else got even just one glimpse...

Rick finally peeked over his fingers that hid the rest of his face. Stan felt he didn't need to see the rest of his face to understand how he was feeling, all he needed to see was the eyes.

"He'll hate me." Rick said into his hands. "I know he will."

Stan sucked in a nervous breath, roughly dragging the edge of his faded red coat over the corner of his watering eye.  
  
"Come in with me. Please." Stan pretty much growled, not even looking to see Rick's reaction, maybe he was embarrassed to. He turned to the side and opened up the car door with a creak, his coat rustling dryly as he did. "Something's not right. I- I think I really need you. Ford's not acting like himself."

Rick responded by yanking his own door open as soon as Stan put his foot out of the door.

The two crunched through the snow together, and Stan was surprised when Rick wordlessly looped his arm through Stan's and hooked them at the elbow. The two of them trudged through the strong, bitter winds back up to the porch. Ford was nowhere to be seen, and the front door was firmly closed once again. Rick slipped his arm away, and Stan went up to it and banged on it with his fist. 

"Open up, Ford, it's fucking freezing out here!" 

Ford opened up the door only a crack, curling his six fingers around the frame, his crazed eyes rolling and meeting Stan's.

"Just let us in already." Stan clamped down on his arms and shivered. Next to him, Rick pressed his arm horizontally across his stomach and held onto his ribs like someone with an stomachache, visoring his eyes with his other hand, refusing to look in the direction of the door.   

"I assumed you'd be coming alone." Ford muttered to Stan, eyes flitting quickly from one man to the other, like Rick couldn't possibly hear every word.

"What, you think I can't make friends?" Stan quipped back, but truthfully, Ford was right on the money. If he hadn't met Rick, Stan knew he'd be coming here completely alone. Rick turned his face even more to the side, clamping his hand over his eyes.

"Why is he hiding his eyes?!" Ford burst out from the door, crossbow held in one hand, and he strode forward. 

"Stanford, whoa, _relax-!_ " Stan tried to step in between the two of them, but Ford shoved him aside with surprising strength. Ford grabbed Rick's thin wrist roughly and forced his hand away from his face. Rick resisted, but at the tugging motion lost his balance and his knees hit the porch. Stan's hand shot out and yanked on the back of Ford's jacket, but it had already happened too fast.

Ford was expecting to see cat-like narrow pupils and yellow in his eyes when he scowled down at him, but when Rick looked up at him from his kneel, they were just dark brown, and strangely enough Rick's guilty expression looked like he was already sorry. 

Their gazes connected, and Rick stiffened with a quiet gasp. The two stood stock-still, haunches raised, like two alley cats in a statuesque pause before they'd go flying at one another. Their brain waves aligned, and for the briefest moment, attempted to accept the other's as its own. 

Ford blinked rapidly in confusion, and Rick punched his hand into his inner pocket and drew his laser gun, scooting backwards and scrambling to climb to his feet quickly. Ford leveled his crossbow to him so lightning fast Stan was left reeling.  
  
"Whoa, hey!" Stan threw himself into the space between them, arms outstretched and one palm facing either man. Rick began to sidestep on the porch, his eyes never leaving the weapon aimed at him. Ford followed suit the opposite way, and Stan had to rotate slowly within the middle to keep his positioning.  
  
"Both of you! Snap out of it!!" Stan demanded, already breaking out into a nervous sweat. What the hell was going on here?  
  
"You're a fucking puppet. You wanted to be important so badly that yu-you'd let yourself be possessed by demon?!" Rick snarled, he took one step backwards again.  
  
"You're going to stand there and pretend you weren't seduced by the same entity?" Ford met him with a similar tone, a furious wrinkle at the bridge of his nose. He met that step and took one forward. "You're nothing but a hypocrite!"   
  
Rick's expression grew cold, and he flicked a button on the back of the gun. His weapon began to charge with a high-pitched, building whine.  
  
"Whoa, stop it! Both of you! Stop moving. Lower the weapons, right now. All of this is a misunderstanding. _Huge_ misunderstanding." Stan swiped at his sweating forehead. He wasn't sure that him making himself a human shield was even that effective when tensions were this high.  
  
Rick's eyes flicked from Stan to Ford's nearly identical faces, eyebrow twitching upward. _Are you going to do it?_ He seemed to taunt, completely wordlessly, and a devious, barely-there smile stretched the corners of his lips upward. Ford stared back with a straight face, his lips pressed into a line that sagged into a frown.

"No. Someone who drugged and raped my brother deserves to die." Ford growled, never wavering with his aim with the bow, the darkness and seriousness in his tone chilled Stan to the bone.

"He didn't do anything like that, Ford! I mean, we're-" Stan was at a loss for words, but he stood positioned in front of Rick with his arms spread out wide, fingers spread too. "Stanford, don't hurt him. Please." 

"Oh, really? Well, it seems to me like he _thinks_ he did." Ford interlocked his teeth and his finger crooked even closer to squeezing the trigger. "Scum. Filth."

Rick moved fast, when he wanted to. He ducked underneath Stan's arm and pressed the barrel of his gun up under Ford's chin, got a fistful of his greasy brown hair in his other hand, and forced Ford's head to tilt back at an uncomfortable angle. 

"Tell me why I shouldn't end you right now, puppet." Rick hissed, and Stan's eyes widened in betrayal and anger. He wasn't aware of his own strength when he shoved Rick hard and it send him sprawling, landing on his ass and sliding even further backward with a stunned expression frozen on his face.  
  
"I said now, dammit!" Stan lunged forward and seized Rick's laser gun, aiming it at a safe enough angle that it would discharge at the ground.

"You. Cool off." Stan growled into his ear, letting go of the weapon with an irritated shove.  
  
Rick's eyes shone, he was slightly more misty-eyed than usual. He ducked his head and slipped the weapon back into the interior pocket, still sitting on his ass where he'd landed, avoiding Stan's eyes the entire time. Stan saw a tear fall twinkling through the air, another dribbled and hung off the tip of his nose.  
  
"Giving me that pill was an accident. It wasn't anyone's fault. You've never- Rick, of course you've never raped me." Stan's voice was gentle, his brows crumpling with sympathy. "Where would you even get an idea like that?"

Rick didn't respond, he just shoved Stan's arms away when he tried to reach for him and help him stand, and he put some distance between the brothers and went to the end of the porch where it wrapped around. He leaned up against the outside of the house right there, just out of sight, curling his shaking hand in his fingerless gloves around his flask and unscrewing the cap. He stuck the opening between his teeth and tipped it skyward. He swallowed it all down, then shook the empty flask upside-down just to check that it really was empty.

He slipped a very small nip of vodka from his inner pocket, filled the cap, and held open both the upper and bottom eyelids wide with the other hand. He tossed the capful back into it, hissing at the intense burn of the eyeball shot. But this was the perfect way to both self-harm and get alcohol into his bloodstream almost immediately. This was the perfect short cut for both.    

Stan turned around to see his brother standing up completely straight, hands clamped into fists. 

"I thought I could trust you." Ford's voice rumbled on, low and daunting. He swayed on his feet like someone who'd had too much to drink, clearly exhausted from his encounter with Rick. He was distant when he spoke, robotic. "You were the only person I thought could help me now." 

"What do you mean, Ford? Of course you can trust me! You can trust _us!_ " Stan clapped his hands to his shoulders to steady him, when Ford swayed dangerously. "I can still help you! You just have to tell me what's wrong-" 

Ford's knees gave out, and he collapsed against Stan with a strained groan.

"Ford-" Stan yelped: he wasn't expecting it, and just barely caught him by the arms.

"What the hell is wrong with you? You look like you haven't slept in a week!" Stan pulled him to his feet again, and Ford very meekly adjusted his askew glasses and made a long, sticky blink. 

"It's been... longer than that, Stanley." He admitted quietly. 

Stan began to usher him toward the door, and brought him inside. Stan looked around for a couch or bed he could tote his brother to.

"You need to lie down," Stan muttered.  

" _No!_ Don't put me on my back, I'll go under." Ford whipped his head back and forth in a dramatic shake, his hair flopping. "I know it seems counterintuitive to stay awake in my state. Listen to me, I can't fall asleep now, not when you're here, not when I haven't put myself in restraints, he'll get in- he'll get in again and- _ah-_ " Ford hunched over with a sharp breath of pain, two hands clasped over one of his eyes. 

Stan clamped down on his shoulder but before he could say anything, Ford straightened up, breathing hard and rubbing his eye. 

"False alarm," Ford muttered, letting his arm fall to his side and he sighed with relief.

Stan gritted his teeth and grabbed his brother's shoulders and swiveled him around. "Tell me what's going on here! None of this mystery shit. Just _tell_ me."  
  
"I've been betrayed." Ford finally said. "Used. Manipulated. And it seems the same thing happened to your..." Ford paused briefly. " _Friend_." 

Stan couldn't help but show plainly on his face how thrown off he was. Rick promised him what felt like a long time ago that he wasn't going to do what Mirror did to his Stan, never telling him anything and hiding things from him. Of course Stan remembered when Rick first moved in with him, when he talked about being mismatched, when he attempted to kill himself because of that. How he'd always mention that the two of them didn't come from the same dimension. But Stan had never known what had happened to the one he abandoned, not even a glimpse, until now.    

"I'm not blind." Ford said. "The two of you are..." He waved his hand around and looked pretty sour about it, and he eased down into an armchair. Several empty mugs of coffee rested on the table next to it, and a half-full coffee pot with a very dark brew. "Lovers, right?"

"Oh God, don't use that kind of language!" Stan looked highly uncomfortable and he shifted from foot to foot. "He's--I mean, we're... Rick and me are together, yeah."

"It's 'Rick and I'." Ford corrected, putting up a finger, and Stan groaned irritably.

"But you're "together", then." Ford tested the word out on his tongue, stroking his chin. "Hm." He looked at Stan with curiosity. "How long?"

"Well, we've been roommates for five months, but- I dunno. Pretty recently, I guess."

"And you've had sex."

"Oh!-kayyy... _eheermm_... well, I mean... yes-" Stan scrubbed uncomfortably at the back of his head.

Ford gave Stan a look, and poured himself a cup. "He thought... some interesting things about your sexual history. I'm hoping you'll explain."

He knew Ford was the same way he was. He could tell that now. They used to talk before going to sleep in their bunks every night, sharing _everything_.  Stan was convinced that he and his brother knew each other down to their very souls back then, like they were one person living in two different bodies. Sometimes when he stayed home sick from school (Ford wouldn't be caught dead having an absent mark), Stan felt like maybe that distance hurt their shared, split soul.

He'd missed Ford so bad. He'd left behind that idea about their soul a while ago, but maybe that really was why it ached so badly when Ford was away. 

"I mean, it's kind of... weird," Stan finally admitted with a sigh. "But every time, I promise you, I wanted it. Rick- he's just- he worries. A lot." 

"Clearly." Ford took a deep sip. 

"Honestly, I don't really notice if we do or if we don't. It doesn't really matter to me if it happens. It's- kind of for him." Stan covered part of his face with his hand. Crap, this kind of thing wasn't easy to talk about. "I didn't know he felt that way about it, I swear. He's got a lot of shit going on in that brain of his, but he's never... you know. I always _wanted_ it, just didn't... _wasn't_..." Stan cut himself off. "You know, right?"  

"Yes, I know." Ford nodded. "We're still the same, then. As we always have been."

"Yeah." Stan agreed in a croak, not sure why that felt like such a punch to the gut. "I figured you'd be, too. Have you- ?"

"Only on a metaphysical level."

"On... what? Are you talking about?"

"In the physical state... _bodily fluids_... that seems disgusting." Ford diverted the subject, burying his nose into his coffee mug and taking a long, noisy slurp. When he took placed it down again, he clasped his hands together to try and hide their jittering.

"Sort of?" Stan shrugged. "It took a little getting used to, I guess. But you said you've...?"  

Ford looked away, bringing the mug up to his lips again. This time, it was very obvious how it shook when he held it up to his face.

"He said it would bring us closer. And it did." Ford put the mug back down with a quiet clink, kept hold of the handle and hung his head deeply. "At first, it wasn't bad. He was... he was my Muse, he seemed to know everything there was to know about this universe, and beyond. I didn't mind it, when it happened in dreams. It wasn't real, exactly, it was clean, strictly psychological. He linked my mind's oxytocin, endorphins... associating the many chemical releases of orgasm with him, his image. Like I said, to... bring us closer."

"He's the one doing all of this to you? The one who betrayed you? And Rick?"

Ford nodded, resting his elbow next to his mug on the table and knotting his six fingers into his unruly hair.

"Rick called him some kind of demon." Stan's hands balled into fists. "I didn't know that kind of thing really existed." 

Ford simply nodded once again, and took off his glasses to rub his exhausted eyes underneath them.

"Yes." Ford rubbed at his eyes with one hand, pinching toward the center and holding the bridge of his nose. "They exist." 

Ford heard Stan grunt, swear, and another loud noise, Ford squinted and shoved his glasses back onto his face. Stan breathed hard, chest heaving, and he brushed the drywall off of his knuckles and he stood next to a fist-sized hole in the wall.

"Sorry," Stan panted, teeth gritted. Stan knew how often Rick got drunk out of his mind just to forget about what he'd done to C-137 when he had to leave it behind. And now when he was looking at Ford, he looked terrible: sleepless, paranoid, delusional. And the same demon was to blame, for both of them?

"I, uh. I'd better go bring Rick inside. No more of the bean juice, alright? You're acting like Mom after her 10th cup." Stan swiped at the last bit of drywall on his hand, and strode away. Maybe some of the fresh air would help, but he was burning with anger that he felt could burst out, like he couldn't contain it all in his body. Ford waited until he'd left the room, before he began drinking straight out of the coffee pot. 

Stan turned the corner where he'd seen Rick disappear off to last, and Rick sat with his back to the side of the house, his nodding head in his folded arms with his elbows propped up on his knees. He was shivering uncontrollably, his whole body shuddering and jumping. He'd gotten really drunk again, Stan could tell, and that was the first time it hit him that Rick had actually stayed sober the entire they'd been driving here.  

Stan crouched down in front of him, reached out and gently pet at his brown hair that he'd dyed just for him, just for this trip, and his hand slipped over to the side to cup over his ear. The ridge of it was like cold wax, the piercings especially icy to the touch. Rick responded with a groan, and tucked his face to hide in the crook of his elbow. 

"Wh-Why don't you just le-leave me out here to freeze," Rick whined, teeth chattering. "Am I c-cooling off enough for you?"

Stan went and grabbed him by the armpits, it was always so easy for him to lift and carry Rick's weight. Rick's knees remained bent, letting him hold him up, and Stan could smell the alcohol on his breath. He looked like he'd been punched in the eye. One eyeball was extremely bloodshot, irritated with hundreds of wiggly red veins, and his lids pinched closed around it. 

"Rick." Stan began quietly. "Do you really think-"

"I'm _not_ talking about it." Rick blurted before Stan could say anything else.

"That was our problem in the first place!" Stan shot back, letting go of his shoulders and gripping onto the lapels of Rick's leather jacket instead. "The pill was a mistake, Rick, plain and simple. I didn't know you thought that, that you even- worried about what happened that night. I wanted to talk about it too, but you never brought it up, and it was sort of swept under the rug, so I just..." 

Rick hung his head, his reddened eye shutting completely. He firmly clamped his mouth shut. 

"Fine." Stan grumbled, snaking his arm around him to guide him into the house. "Let's at least get you nice 'n warmed up."

"I can- I'll do it myself!" Rick shoved him away, stumbling toward the door with one hand dragging along a wood panel. When he planted his hand on the door, he hesitated. Ford was inside, and Rick would rather swallow a live coal than face him again. No one ever got a glimpse into his mind and thought he deserved any kind of decency, including himself.

"Yu-you know what Stan-" Swiftly, he took the portal gun from his pocket and tossed one up over the door. "Screw this."

"Rick! No, don't just-" Stan tried to call out to him, one hand reaching for him, but he'd already stepped through. The portal sucked back into nothing, and Stan scowled and lowered his outstretched hand.

"...Leave," Stan finished his sentence to no one but the snow, and his shoulders heaved out a heavy sigh. He waited there for a moment more, hoping that maybe another green portal would open up, that Rick would realize what he'd done and come right back to him. But it didn't happen, so Stan pushed back inside in defeat.

When Stan came back into the living room, Ford had disappeared. He'd left a note on the chair he'd been sitting on: 

_Went to sleep-- for however briefly. It requires precautionary measures. Under no circumstances will you come looking for me. I will be back in a few hours. -F_

Eventually Stan gave up on waiting in the living room for Ford, and sat on a bench ledge under one of the stain glass windows with a cluster of geometric designs, centered around an equilateral triangle, chain smoking stick after stick. He had the weird feeling like he was being watched over his shoulder, and he kept checking to see if maybe Rick had come back and was there, but no one was. The wind whistled eerily, and the wooden house creaked and groaned softly as it settled. Somewhere deep in the house, a clock ticked on incessantly.

_ Demons exist, _  Stan had tried his best to keep that one particular thought at bay, but it kept on nudging against him like an impatient, hungry cat, and it refused to be ignored.

 _ Demons apparently exist, and the same one messed with both my brother and Rick. _ Stan sucked his fifth or maybe sixth cig down to the filter, leaned back against the wall and exhaled through both his nostrils and mouth, the streams of smoke crossing in a triangle a few inches from the tip of his nose. He closed his eyes, keeping the nub of the cigarette to burn the rest of itself out between two fingers, the last meager wisps of smoke swirling up to the beams on the ceiling. Stan felt that unnerving sensation of eyes on him so intensely he couldn't even doze.

Well, if anything, he was a fast learner, especially when it came to things that weren't exactly legal. How hard could exorcism and black magic really be? He already knew all the basics and some pretty advanced tricks with magician stuff, anyway. He was practically halfway there already, right?

"Heyyyy, Brawns." He could tell just by the irregular way Rick's footsteps bumped and dragged along the floor that he'd scurried off to drink his weight in liquor again.

"Oh, wow, back so fucking soon?" Stan growled, keeping his eyes shut and he still leaned up against the wall. "It's a miracle!"

"Stop being s-so uptiiight, Lee!" Rick stumbled and lost his balance, falling onto his knees and catching himself in Stan's lap. "Y-you just gotta- gottuhhh- _urRpp_ shit I forgot wh-what I was gonna say." His head lolled and he wound up resting his cheek against Stan's thigh and burped again. The sclera of one of his eyes was still an irritated pink, giving the two of them an off-balanced look.

"You're wasted." Stan commented sourly.

"Wasted enough to- to..." He stammered, cutting himself off and slipping his hand upward from his knee, letting his hand rest on Stan's other unoccupied thigh. "Whatever. Talk about it or fuh-fuckin' shit."

 _ Oh, _ Stan realized, and he felt his irritation beginning to slip away.

"Rick, what happened to your eye?" Stan asked. 

"I took shots from it," Rick grumbled, in a tone that clearly said _back off, spare me the lecture_. "What, like y-you've never tried that before?" 

"You were sober for a while there, Rick." Stan stroked his hair, passed his hand down to his neck and held his shoulder. "I was too wrapped up in my own problems to notice then, but, you know... I'm proud you lasted that long. No bullshit- real proud of you."

Stan thought maybe that compliment would have been a nice thing to say, but Rick hid his face and hiccuped in a way that Stan had seen too many times before. Stan just placed his hand over his head, waiting for him to find his voice. 

"I'm s-so fucking pathetic," His body jerked with a swallowed back sob. "You're _p_ _roud _ of me? Geez, I'm pathetic. Ford doesn't want me around you. He- I'm pretty sure he hates my guts."

"I don't give a fuck what Ford thinks about you." Stan lifted Rick's face with two fingers under his chin, then took Rick's face into both of his hands. The water shining and collecting on Rick's bottom lids spilled over and streaked in shiny, straight lines down his cheeks without blinking. "Nothing he can ever say is going to change the way I feel about you, Rick. "

Rick began to shake his head within Stan's hands, rapidly shaking it from side to side. "Don't, just don't, okay?!" He put one hand up to his cheek, trying weakly to pry his hand away. 

More tears streaked down, he shut his eyes and pulled Stan's hand away by the wrist. Stan just swiped his thumb over a tear track before letting go, and Rick hid his face away in the crease just above Stan's knees, his body jerking with repressed sobs.

"Relax, honey." Stan just continued to smooth his hair down, petting at it over and over. "You're getting yourself all worked up."  

"I don't understand," Rick rolled his cheek to one leg and stared into the middle distance, staring at Stan's stomach instead of into his eyes. "I've done so many fucked up things to you- for starters, I-I took you somewhere that made an eyeball parasite grow out of your skull-"

"Hey, I got a pretty badass paperweight out of it though, right?" Stan tried to joke. It fell flat, Rick just frowned at him and his expression shot daggers. 

"Listen, Stan, I've treated you like shit, I kept running off when you needed me, I-I fucking took your virginity and then was a huge asshole about it- it-that shouldn't have been me, your first, I fucked it all up- you're always- why- how can y-you even stand me." Rick sniffed and hid his face away into his lap again, and Stan's hand took its place resting on top of the back of his head again.

Rick sniffled a few more times, and Stan just thumbed at the ridge of his ear and the hairless space behind it, waiting. Rick got all of that out of the way first, and Stan knew now he'd finally get to that center, the real thing that was bothering him all along. 

"You told me you don't care about sex, and I know that's not a lie, but I've still-" Rick cut himself off and bit down on his lower lip, just shaking his head back and forth. "Wh-What the fuck is wrong with me." 

"Remember what I said last night? That it makes me feel close to you. Remember that?" Stan raised his chin with two fingers underneath, tipping to angle his face upward to look at him. "You have needs that I... don't really have, Rick. And look, I haven't been so great at thinking about your side either, remember when you were horny as hell because I- well, I guess I just didn't realize it had been a while? I _like_  making you feel good, taking care of you, okay? In that way, in a lot of ways." 

"I push you into it." Rick grumbled in defiance. "Because I'm a big, steaming pile of-"

"Stop." Stan interrupted him before he could go on another self-deprecating tangent. Alcohol and emotions like this were a dangerous mix. "You're the only person I've ever slept with, Rick. And every time we get a little better at it. I might not make the first move a lot, but- it feels so  nice connecting like that. I promise."

Rick sighed, still resting on Stan's lap. Stan felt like it was a little ridiculous that he was still sitting there, hugging onto this legs, when they should have been face to face by now.

"So what, maybe it hasn't been perfect." Stan huffed. "Rick, bottom line- you make me happy. God, you really do. Happier than I've been in a really, really long time. Maybe since I was a kid. So... just... come up here already, alright?" 

Rick swiped at his eyes with the back of his hand, coughing out a strange sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. He clambered up, hovering over Stan's body and sliding into his lap, crossing his wrists behind Stan's shoulders. Stan's slow hand wandered up his back.

"I need a kiss after all that." Stan whispered. "I don't care if it's gooey." 

Rick choked out a strangled laugh. He leaned in and planted that first, gentle kiss to the corner of Stan's mouth.

Stan inhaled Rick's scent with an audible noise of pleasure and his eyes shut, meeting Rick's lips again and holding him close by the back of his head.

"I felt like such a piece of shit for feeding you that pill- I hated myself for doing that to you." Rick's head drooped and the two of them wound up in a hug instead. "I kept that in, but... that's why I cried, in the back of the car that night, after it happened. And that's why I took them with BG. To punish myself, to put it into my body too." 

Stan just wound up hugging him close, squeezing him tighter into his thick arms until Rick let out a soft, laughing grunt. 

"It was an accident, Rick. I don't know how many times I have to tell you this," Stan pulled just enough away so Rick could breathe normally, but they looked at each other and their nosetips bumped. Rick's head lolled drunkenly and he pulled forward, resting his cheek on Stan's and winding his arms around him.

"Thank you for coming back," Stan whispered into his ear. "I'm glad I'm not alone for this."

The two sat together, Stan leaned all the way back and pulled Rick to rest on his chest, both of them lounging and trying as best as they could to relax under the stainglass window.   

A strange voice floated from somewhere in the house, it sounded muffled and faraway.

"So, uh, you heard that too, right?" Stan asked, when Rick's head shot up from where it had been flopped to his shoulder.

"Yeah." Rick dug his pinky finger into his ear. "Is it just me, or did it sound like he was saying-"  

"Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiccccccckkkkkkkk,"The voice called from somewhere within the depths of the creepy wooden house, the tone taunting like a nasty child. "I know you're back, Ricky."   

Rick's expression dropped and he scrambled to his feet, pushing out of Stan's lap.

"Where's Ford," He asked, voice hollow, on edge and putting distance between the two of them like a timid deer that wanted to bolt. The intensity of his fear was what tipped Stan off: he was never exactly like this, even when things seemed out of control or impossible he'd keep at least some shred of courage.

"He's said he's sleeping, but I don't know where. He wrote a note, something about taking some kind of measures?" Stan slowly rose to his own feet, like he'd scare Rick away if he didn't. "Rick, what the hell's going on?"

"We need to leave. Now." Rick pulled the portal gun back out, and it shook within his grasp. 

Stan shook his head slowly from side to side and backed up a step.

"Are you an idiot? It's not safe! How can you not understand that Ford's-"

"Ford's what? _Possessed?_ You've got to be kidding me! There's no way that crap's real. " Stan backed up another step and finally whirled around, stalking through the house, arms swinging with purpose, to find the source of the voice. "He's not. He can't be! I'll prove it!" 

Stan continued to stalk through the house, puffing out his chest and pretending to be much braver than he really felt. Rick toted after him reluctantly, and he pinched the fabric of the back of his shirt between his fingers and walked right behind him.

"Let's leave, Stan." Rick whispered to him from behind. "I'm getting real sick of this snow. I know a remote beach in Mexico calling our names. Sunshine, sand, margs and piña coladas, Lee. W-we gotta go. C'mon, w-we gotta go now."   

"Warmer, getting warmer..." The same voice called out through the house, in that same taunting way, as Stan slammed door after door open with no luck of finding Ford. Stan lifted his head like a dog catching a scent, narrowed his eyes and continued his near rampage through the house following the sound of his brother's borrowed voice.

"Hotter!"

Stan slammed open the last door, even with a large _KEEP OUT_ sign nailed to the front of it, into what seemed like some kind of study crammed with whirring machinery and files.

" _Hotter!_  Yowch, looks like you're on fire!"

Stan in fact did smell something burning, and caught a glimpse of something bright in the corner of his eye. The fabric on his shoulder, it had caught on fire! Stan yanked his sleeve to cover his hand and frantically patted it out, leaving just wisps of smoke and blackened fabric.

Ford had strapped himself down into a wooden chair with metal clamps binding his wrists and ankles down, it even held him down over the ribs with metal strips. There was a perfect circle drawn around the chair of finely ground salt crystals. His head was ducked down low, his brown hanging hair completely obscuring his face from view, and he was laughing incredibly hard, so hard his whole body jumped and shook with his laughter.

"Rickyyyy, Tickkyyy,  _TAAVI _ ," Ford lifted and swayed his head from side to side with each syllable, finally lifting his face to the two of them and letting the hair fall back out of his face. Ford's face split into an uncomfortably wide, devilish grin, flashing almost all of his teeth. His eyes glowed a faint yellow, the pupils narrow slivers like a snake's, and blood was streaming out of one of his eyes, streaking down his face, collecting in his smile line and dribbling into his mouth to line his teeth with red. "Whelp! Talk about awwwkward.  Let me see: my ex, my new man, my new man's twin  _brother_  who happens to be dating my ex... yeesh, talk about a love triangle! Get it?! Triangle?! AAHAha _hah_ ahaH _Aaa_ ~ I crack myself up."

Rick looked scared shitless, his face pale and his expression fallen into one of fear and disbelief, and Stan couldn't actually place a moment when he'd ever looked vulnerable like that before.

Stan couldn't believe it. Ford was actually, really possessed.

"What, you thought by bouncing away like a bunny into the bush, you'd lose me forever? Awww, you're cute when you're scared, Ricky Rabbit. You went through millions of dimensions to shake me off your cotton-tail, didn't you?" Ford's smile stretched even wider, it nearly seemed physically impossible to be that wide. His tone lowered, became more serious all of the sudden. "But here we are, Sanchez. Face to face, once again. But you've moved on from me already, huh? Boo hoo."

"I'll fucking kill you." Rick snarled, leaping forward and he perched over Ford, one long leg propped up on the other armrest like a grasshopper's, and he dug the end of his blaster gun hard into Ford's chin, making his head tip to one side. Bill just continued to laugh manically, Ford's eye bubbling out more blood all the while. The yellow in his eyes glinted dangerously, the color bright like a poison animal's warning sign.

"You can't do that, not while I'm wearing sweet Sixer as my suit!! Your toy Stan would never forgive you!!" Bill giggled. "I bet you wish I was in your head again, dontcha kid? So you could feel like you killed yourself for a good reason, like you're actually _noble!!!_ Hah ha _ha_ heh ha, Rick's death- actually meaning something!! Imagine that!  _HAA!_ You know you die alone, facedown in your own vomit, right?" 

"Get back," Stan grabbed Rick's shirt by the scruff of the neck and yanked him away. "This thing is dangerous!" 

"Trust me, Pines, he's done a lot more than just stand in front of me! I've been inside him!" Bill smirked, and actually poked his tongue out of his mouth to lick away some of the blood that was close to Ford's lips, more trickled down under his chin and fell in droplets, staining Ford's unbuttoned white shirt. "How does it feel, Stanley, to know that I've mindfucked both your twinsy and Ricky? And me and Rick- you don't even want to know! Ford's vanilla as they come, but Rick, Rick, _Rick._  I got one word for ya, Pines. _Giraffes_." 

Stan held Rick firmly, angling him behind him protectively. Rick was shaking, maybe a combination of fear and anger, and held tight onto the fabric at Stan's back and took a breather, pressing himself up tight to him. 

"Hey, this guy's a cutie! I see the appeal, Rick, but _ouch_ , you moved on so fast from me." Bill purred, Ford's lids lowered seductively. "You know, if you wanna... for old times sake... Ford's kept himself in wayyy better shape than doughboy Stan here." Ford's legs were bound at the ankles, but he still spread his knees apart, as far as they could. "You already know Stan's body, so why wouldn't you want to take a _better_ version out for a spin? I know how much you love your men strong-"

Ford screwed up his face, then his head dropped very suddenly to his chest. 

"Well, this is no fun. Ford hates this idea even more than you do! Wow, he really hates you, Rick! Enough to actually put up a stronger fight against me!" Bill's yellow eyes flashed, sinister, for the final time. "I'll be watching you, Rabbit. I have eyes everywhere! And I mean **E҉V҉E҉R҉Y҉W҉H҉E҉R҉E҉**."

Suddenly, the walls bubbled and boiled, the paint warping and creating rising domes like a baking tortilla. The domes split horizontally all at once, peeling open and revealing huge, batting yellow eyes on every surface in the entire room. With peals of loud laughter, the eyes all disappeared at once and Ford's head flopped down. The laughter faded, until they were all surrounded by a stifling silence.

" _Ford,_ " Stan rushed up to his brother and tipped his face upwards, he began swiping away all the blood running down the side of his nose and on his chin with the sleeve of his coat. Ford moaned and struggled to open his eyes, leaning into Stan's supporting hand. "Are you okay? Is he gone?" 

"He's gone." Ford nodded weakly, not acknowledging any of Stan's gentle scrubbing. "While I remain conscious, he can't come back. We agreed: he can only come into my mind when I'm asleep." 

Rick had put himself far away from the two brothers, he leaned up against the doorframe with his arms crossed and one knee propped up. He was wearing a huge grimace on his face, his eyes lowered to the ground.

"I need some air," Rick grumbled, already waving his portal gun around. "I'll be back later." Rick stepped through, and the two identical pairs of brown eyes met. Ford looked almost embarrassed and incredibly guilty, and Stan looked rattled. Stan made one more swipe at the blood on his twin's face, then let his hand drop to his side. Ford's head dropped down too with the support gone.

"You have some explaining to do," Stan's rough voice growled low.

 *   *   *

Rick returned that night, when Stan had put himself to bed underneath the stainglass window with a scratchy, meager blanket. Stan had been trying to lie perfectly still, but he still hadn't managed to fall asleep. He didn't even need to be woken up when he felt someone shake his shoulder. 

"Lee," Rick whispered.

"I'm up," Stan mumbled, eyes still closed. "That walls-have-eyes trick really did a number on me. I can't shake the feeling like I'm being watched."

"Y-yeah, well, that's kind of his gimmick." Rick pulled on Stan so he'd sit upright. "Come on. Let's get out of here."

"I can't leave Ford like this, Rick, you already knew that." Stan ran his hand down his face. "As much as I want to sip Mai Tai's with sand between my toes-" 

"I know, Stan. It'll just be for a little while. Just a li'l quicky." Rick pulled on his arm. "It's not the beach. I promise, you'll love it. I want you to see it, after everything." 

Stan finally reluctantly broke into a soft smile, and stood up next to Rick.

"We'll be back in a few hours, right? I don't want to leave Ford for very long. Not after seeing that."  

"Yeah. We'll be back. But where we're going, I need you to be really, really quiet." Rick pressed his index to his mouth, and wrapped his hand around Stan's bicep and dragged him through the new portal. 

Stan stepped out onto ground that was wet and the air was thick with warm moisture, the glowing lime-green of the portal sparkling back at them. His mouth fell open in awe as he looked up and around him. The gigantic cavern went as far back as he could see, like a massive train tunnel, and on every surface but the floor there were clusters of tightly-packed lime green lights like a galaxy, pulsating softly. Small puddles on the ground reflected them, the dots of light shivering in the reflection when water droplets fell from stalactites hanging down from the cave ceiling and hit with scattered quiet plinks.  

Stan hadn't realized that the portal had disappeared behind them, because the green bathing the cave was the exact same color. 

"It's just like your portal gun." Stan dipped close to Rick's ear to whisper, he couldn't take his eyes off of the galaxy of lime-green lights dotting every surface.

"Knew you'd notice." Rick smiled and spoke into his ear, but he was a little louder than Stan had been. The lights near them faltered and flickered with the exact volume change. "Now, the fun part. When I tap you, we're gonna scream. As loud as we can." 

Stan looked a little bewildered, but nodded all the same. He sucked in a deep breath, even the slight gasping sound caused the lights closest to him to react, fading in a frightened pulse.

Rick tapped him on the shoulder, and the two both cupped their hands around their mouths and screamed so loudly it hurt their chests, the amplified effect of the tunnel throwing the noise back to them and multiplying it. The lights disappeared instantly around them, regressing in one scared sweep, and they watched and listened as the sound waves traveled deeper through the tunnel, the green instantly fading to black like a train was barreling through. It was only after Stan watched the lights disappear through the tunnel that he realized just how  _dark_  it was in here, how helpless he felt without his sight, and the idea that they were in  _alien territory_  made him absolutely terrified. 

He felt something brush him and he jerked in response, only to sigh and relax when he realized it was just Rick. Stan let out a sigh of relief and pulled Rick closer into a hug, surprised by how well he could guess where parts of his body were, he wrapped his arm around his slim waist and pulled him in. Both of them were already getting sweatier, being in this place was like being in a steam sauna. It was a nice contrast to how cold the cabin was in Gravity Falls, with wooden boards with gaps that let the cold air in. It felt good for the hot, humid air to swirl into his lungs.

All around them, the lights shied hesitantly out of the darkness, beginning to glow again but they stayed dim, and Stan could just barely make out Rick's face in the soft glow. 

Rick guided him so that the two of them laid down on the warm, moist floor made out of what felt like shale, Rick draped over Stan and thumbed circles into his shoulders over and over again. 

"These glow worms produce one of the stretchiest materials in existence. I came here and harvested some of them to help create my wormholes for my portal gun, I didn't realize they'd effect the color of my portals. But the green... I guess it's grown on me." Rick said.

"It's...." Stan whispered in awe, watching before his very eyes as the lights tentatively began to glow even brighter, each cluster having more influence on those around them, wavering, becoming brighter, all depending on one another for how strongly they were going to glow. Their communication was fascinating to watch, the pulsating and twinkling. He realized he wasn't even breathing, because of how enraptured he was by them. When he looked at Rick again, Rick was watching him watching the glow worms, the green shone neon green through the tips of his hair, turned his skin green, the clusters of light twinkled back at him in his dark eyes. 

"I love this place." Stan finally decided to say, but even that didn't really fully capture what he was feeling. This place was special, the fact that Rick had brought him to this place was very special, he could just tell.

"It's my favorite place in the universe." Rick whispered, and Stan planted soft yet audible kisses inward from his shoulder to his neck. Rick snaked his arm around Stan’s upper back, rubbing his shoulders for a moment before curling his fingers into the longest part of his mullet and scritching lazily at his scalp.

"I've never brought anyone here before." Rick blurted, not for much of a reason. 

"Which means, in Rick-speak, you've never fucked in here before, either." Stan replied, his lips curling into a faint smile. 

Rick's hand remained cradled at the back of Stan's neck but it stilled from the rubbing, his eyes gave away his surprise.  

" _Rick_." Stan's voice hushed as he dipped closer and spoke suggestively into his ear. 

He realized he was never the one to do this, to initiate things, it had always been Rick in the past. Instead of speaking, Stan just lowered Rick very gently onto his back onto the black stones, making direct eye contact the entire time that he did. 

Rick's expression gave away how excited he was about this happening, about Stan being the one to make this first move. Rick loosely held Stan in his arms as he hovered over him, grinning and biting down on his lower lip. Stan's eyes fluttered shut as he closed the gap between their faces, their lips barely brushing first before pressing together more firmly.

"...Want you." Stan muttered, pressing another gentle kiss to his mouth, his eyes still closed. 

"Yeah," Rick agreed in a soft sigh, wasting no time in wrapping his legs around Stan's hips and locking his ankles, pulling him in closer with them, pressing their hips flush against one another. 

"No, Rick." Stan's voice wasn't more than a husky whisper now. His fingers slipped around his hipbone, and he pressed his face in embarrassment to the side of Rick's warm neck. "I meant-" 

Rick took his face between two palms, pulling it away from his neck so he could look into his eyes. "This isn't because of our talk, right? Look, you know you don't have anything to prove-" 

"It's not that." Stan shook his head, and Rick's surrounding hands moved along with the motion. "I've been thinking about asking you for a while now, to try a switch. The first time I- y'know, something was in me like that- I didn't want it. It was just a fucked up power play- an inmate- I don't want to remember it like that anymore. I want a new memory. With you."

"You sure you want this?" Rick murmured. "Bottoming- it can hurt, the first few times.” 

“I think I can handle it. I mean, I’ve been your personal knife rack plenty of times before.” Stan cracked the joke, leaving Rick scoffing but a grin climbed onto his face.

“Cheeky li'l shit,” Rick said affectionately, pulling forward onto his lap, Stan’s hands wandered to rest on his thighs and Rick hovered a few inches over him. Rick lazily folded his arms at the elbows and rest them around Stan’s shoulders, and pulled forward to speak quietly into his ear. “You really want this, Stan?” 

“ _Yes_ ,” Stan muttered the one syllable with a punch of breath out of his chest. "I want you. Here, in this place, your favorite place- I want you to take me." He whispered that last part, eyes stuttering shut. "Please."

"Then I'll make you feel so fucking good, baby.” Rick’s hand wandered to cup at the side of Stan’s face, and their lips pressed again. “I’ll take the lead. I could tell you liked that, our first time, didn’t you?” 

“Yeah.” Stan breathed, then his lips fell open just enough and Rick pulled forward at his cue and planted kiss after kiss with soft smacks. 

The air was humid and warm enough that if they’d spent a few more minutes in here, clothes would have started to come off anyway, it surprised Stan how nice the temperature was against his bare skin without anything on his body to keep him warm. 

Stan had been stripped down first by Rick, he was naked himself as he helped Rick out of his shirt between kisses and finally started to work off his pants, kneeling slowly and leaving a trail of kisses down his flat stomach. 

“Fuck, I’m hard.” Rick huffed, Stan knelt and mouthed at the straining mound of white cotton sandwiched between the unzipped front of his pants. Rick carded his hands through his hairs, already a little dampened, letting his head fall back as he moaned quietly. “Holy fuck, I just remembered what we're even... I can’t wait to be in you, baby.” 

“Me, too.” Stan realized his breathing was starting to pick up, before continuing to nudge at the bulge with his nose and teased with his mouth. "-Wanted this for a while." 

Stan fisted the pants at the ass and tugged them down, the erection beneath his last layer was outlined clearly as it strained against the cotton, the head’s dark color apparent through the nearly translucent patch of fabric, smeared close to clear with his precum.

Stan shucked the pants down all the way, and pulled the underwear down with the motion with his teeth. Rick lowered himself down and kicked the two of them off, his erection bobbing as he did so. Stan froze for a moment, just taking it in as he perched on his knees at Rick’s feet. A newly naked Rick lay there on the natural rock formations, erect with precum dripping down the underside of it, his skin bathed in the green light of the glow worms turned it almost a pale jade. The light was so dim it turned his hair and eyes a deep black, as dark as the stones surrounding them. The affectionate look on his face and inviting posture of his body was enough to make Stan feel his face get warmer in a rush. 

“I wasn’t lying, before.” Stan said softly as he walked on his hands so he was hovering over Rick’s bottom half, and gently wrapped his hand around the base of his dick. “You’re so fucking beautiful."

Before Rick had time to protest, Stan had drawn out a lick with the flat of his tongue to the underside of the shaft, collecting the dribble of pre and swallowed Rick into his mouth. All Rick could do was spread his arms and scrabble on to grip onto the stone, throwing his head back and gasping. 

After only a few bobs of his head, Rick’s knees folded up and his legs began to tremble around Stan. 

“St- _aaah_ -stop, Stan, stop, stop,” Rick’s back arched as he sputtered. “I’m edging-  _hhhnn_ \- fuckfuck-"

Stan pulled away with a soft popping nose and gripped onto Rick’s thigh instead, holding it close to his side. 

“Hold it.” Stan instructed in the same, steady and commandeering way he’d used when they fucked in the back of the car before they’d arrived, knowing that Rick had seemed to like that. “Don’t come now.”

“Fuck,” Rick whimpered and draped limply against the stones, throwing his elbow over his eyes and breathing raggedly. “Okay. I got it. I’m back in control.”  

Stan slipped all of the way up his body now. He took Rick’s wrist and pulled his arm away to reveal his pair of dark eyes, placing Rick’s hand on the back of his head instead, surging forward with his eyes squeezed shut and mashed their lips together hard enough for their teeth to knock. Rick caught on and fisted the hairs under his palm, licked his way into Stan’s mouth. 

“Make love to me,” Stan said in one hurried rush of air, as soon as their lips parted with a wet click. 

Rick once again took control, pulling on Stan so that he’d flipped onto his stomach, he was on an uneven formation with a shelf the perfect height for him to rest his chest and arms on, his knees holding him up on the lower segment so that his ass was already in the air. 

Rick’s breaths brushed the back of his neck as he took his place behind him, hands resting on either side of his hips. One disappeared as Rick sucked his fingers into his mouth, coating them with saliva. Stan realized that they didn’t even have lube to use this time, but it was strange the way that he realized he wouldn’t necessarily want that to change. The two of them stripped down out of clothing, here in this untouched cave drifting somewhere in the universe far away from the rest of humanity, it felt primal, timeless even. They could work with what they had on hand just fine.

“Keep yourself just like this,” Rick’s wet fingers slipped down from Stan’s tailbone and dipped into the crack, his longest middle finger wiggling into and rubbing shallow circles into Stan’s tight ring of muscles. “Back flat, ass up. I can tell, this is gonna be a nice angle for us, Lee.” 

He continued to work him open, collecting saliva in the dip of his other palm and swiping his fingers into it when he pulled them out, pushing back into Stan’s hole and scissoring, sinking in up past the knuckle as he fucked them in and out in a deep, even pace. Stan panted, propped up on his elbows on the shelf of stone, rocking himself back onto Rick’s fingers. 

“Rick,” Stan moaned, both of them taking equal enjoyment in the name being uttered in such a breathless, borderline desperate tone of voice. “Enough. I’m ready.”     

“You set the pace here.” Rick spoke into the back of his neck after brushing some of the long hair out of the way, already dampened with sweat, and dragged his fingers down Stan’s side. “Slowly, Lee. Sink yourself onto me.”

Stan could feel the way that the firm head bumped up to his entrance, he spread his stance slightly and adjusted his knees to be further apart and pushed back into it, breathing evenly as the bluntness began to enter him. 

“Keep going,” Rick coaxed gently, one hand tracing a swirl into Stan’s hip. “I got you. I’ll tell you everything you need to do." His voice came from right behind his head, Rick’s erect nipples brushed against Stan’s back before he laid his chest down on it, the weight and warmth giving him even more reassurance. Rick wrapped one arm around him like a hug, resting his spread hand just below Stan's naval for now, Stan knew that hand would slip down to wrap around his cock, when he was ready for that. “You’re doing so good, baby.” 

At the words of encouragement, Stan lifted his ass up and pushed himself back a little too fast. He felt the burn of his rim being stretched far, going in dry except for spit and precum, and gasped softly at the sensation, mouth dropped open and body bowing underneath Rick’s lithe figure.

“Sloww it down,” Rick planted a kiss to Stan’s shoulder. “Nice and slow. No rush, Lee.” 

“Keep calling me that,” Stan found himself blurting, his voice breathy. “I just like it.” He grunted quietly as a follow-up. 

“Yeah.” Rick combed his hair through his fingers. “I will."

They were interlocked together, Rick only partway inside. Stan nudged backwards again, and Rick sank in a little further. 

“Good boy.” Rick whispered, taking both hips into his hands, and Stan’s dick twitched at the praise. Rick couldn’t help the tiny, abortive stutters of his hips now. “-Just a little further."

“ _Hhh_. So full,” Stan voice hushed, and Rick took his hand out of his hair and squeezed their hands together for a moment in encouragement.

“Feels good,” Stan admitted as if it were shameful, dropping his head down, letting it rest on the moist rocks that seemed to seep up warmth from within. The thick moisture in the warm air was glazing his skin with sweat already, but the good thing was the heat was making all of his muscles unwind, especially helpful for his stretched hole. “ _Hnn_. So full with you, Rick.”

“Just wait till I hit that sweet spot deep inside you, Lee.” 

Stan widened his stance even more and made that final push back. They’d finally bottomed out, and Rick circled his hips a few times, the pads of his fingers digging into Stan’s lower stomach, trying to let Stan get used to the feeling of being stretched and full of him. Rick took his hips and lifted them only a little for a better angle to thrust.

“Tell me when you want-" Rick said, sinking his fingers into the gaps of Stan’s upturned, waiting hand.

“Move,” Stan interrupted him, clamping down harder on their intertwined fingers in preparation. 

Rick drew back just enough to reveal the base before sliding back in with a short roll of his hips. He kept a slow, shallow pace, mostly working Stan’s tightness open and using more precum to lube the passage, to make the thrusts as little smoother for him.

“Just getting you looser for now, Lee.” Rick huffed, still partway hugging him with one hand pressed to his stomach beneath the two of them. “Try and relax, baby. I got you."

Stan was struggling to stifle his every sound, making quiet grunts at each gentle thrust. 

“We can be loud.” Rick encouraged him. “It’s just the two of us in here. We can make those worm’s lights go out, they don’t mind."

Stan let Rick take care of him for a moment, each gentle thrust starting to feel better and better, unlike he’d ever felt before, which had only been blinding pain. He’d had his doubts that this type of thing could actually feel nice, but those were quickly disappearing with each measured roll of Rick’s hips. He let his mouth fall open, each pleasured grunt punching out of him, getting louder and louder. 

“Good, baby, _good_. I can feel you opening up around me.” Rick felt it too as he pressed himself close to Stan’s back, their skin already slippery. He pressed an opened-mouth kiss to Stan’s shoulder again. “Faster?”

Stan nodded, drawing out a hummed _mm-hmm_. Truthfully, he didn’t know how steadily he’d be able to speak at the moment. Rick’s hands had returned to his hipbones, encouraging the rolls of Stan’s hips pushing back into him. Stan got the message and they both found the same beat, Stan rolling his hips in time with Rick’s deepening thrusts. That was when he felt it: a brush against his prostate, which drew up a uncontrollable guttural moan from deep within his chest.    

“Theeere it is.” Rick crooned, shifting just enough inside him to prod against that bundle of nerves again. Stan thought that first touch was already overwhelming, and now that Rick had found it and was relentlessly nudging up against it, nailing it with exactness every single time, he found himself unable to think of anything else except how amazing it felt. 

"Rick..." Stan moaned quietly, his surprise and satisfaction at how it felt in his tone.  Rick must have known he was overstimulated enough as it was, so of course that was when he decided to finally slip his hand that he’d been using to hug Stan close to him down to wrap around his cock. 

Stan cried out loudly enough this time for a large radius of green lights to sweep into darkness. Rick moaned, his hips pushing into Stan even faster, the sound of skin slapping to a beat joining their ragged breathing and vocalizations.

“Rick,” Stan’s voice was raw. “ _Please_. You know- _hhfff_ \- know what I want.” 

“Say it,” Rick was equally breathless, hips slamming into him over and over. 

“Face me.” Stan almost whimpered. “Need it. Need to see-“ 

Rick pulled himself all of the way out, flipped Stan to roll, and at the next thrust slipped himself up to the hilt inside him again. Stan threw his head back at sudden absence and then deep penetration, when his head flopped back he wrapped his arms around Rick and looked into his face, beading with sweat, mouth gasping open, seeing his partner's bliss only making Stan’s own emotions flare stronger.  

“-Can’t hold out much longer,” Rick gritted his teeth and pressed his nose up to Stan’s temple, continuing to pump into Stan at a ruthless pace. “Ah- _ah-_ Lee- I’m-“ 

Stan’s back arched hard toward his flood of sensation, his mouth stretched wide open in a silent scream of pleasure. Rick’s arms crushed around him, hiding Stan’s orgasm face in his shoulder, his teeth sinking into the meat of Stan’s neck, that little spike of pain only deepening the pleasure with a new flavor, like salt sprinkled on chocolate. 

Stan released between the two of them, cock leaping as white spurted out onto Rick’s stomach and spattered globs onto his thighs, at the same time he felt Rick’s come fill him up deep within those inner walls.

Stan breathed hard, feeling himself completely loosened and limp, burying his face in the secure pocket of Rick’s shoulder, the two of them clutching hard onto each other as their chests flared, breathing ragged, fingers digging into shining skin as they held each other close as they shuddered through the aftershocks together.

“Again,” Rick was the one who’d wrangled his breathing enough to speak first. “It happened again. The same time.” 

Stan was still speechless, and his hand glided up easily on Rick’s slick skin up from his mid-back to cup the back of his neck, Stan just nuzzled his face up further into Rick’s shoulder as he tried desperately to even his erratic breathing. He could feel Rick starting to soften inside of him. 

“I’m gonna pull out.” Rick tipped the two of them back so Stan could lay on his back, and the boneless Stan complied. “Carefully, okay?” 

Rick perched over Stan and very slowly began to pull his length out, the pinkness streaked with the cum he’d left deep inside of Stan, that last dragging on Stan’s tender walls making him shudder and his eyes fell shut. His hole throbbed on, and Rick finally pulled himself all of the way out, very gently.  

Rick laid on top of him, both were sweating heavily, warm and slippery, their chests still flaring. Rick passed his hand over the wet sideburns near Stan’s ear and traced his thumb on his cheek, sweeping under his eye, it was staring deeply into Rick’s. Unspoken, they adjusted again and laid side-by-side, Rick’s leg captured between two of Stan’s. 

Rick cupped Stan’s face and slipped his palms along his jaw, the heels of his palms touching together under his chin and he kissed Stan like he was drinking from him.

They pulled away to settle and wrap their arms around each other, clinging like they’d done in the backseat of the car the previous night. They were still for a moment, just breathing. 

“I can feel it stronger here.” Stan finally spoke up. “Can you?” 

Stan didn’t even have to say it for Rick to know what he meant. Rick suspected it was because they were so far away from all of the other human beings emitting their own waves, they were very far away from any intelligent life in this corner of the universe.

If a crowded planet was filled with billions of humans and animals emitting their own individual wavelengths, it was almost like it was crowding the air too, putting the two of them in a cloud of static. 

“Yeah.” Rick affirmed, placing his hand at the fleshy dip between the edge of Stan’s ribcage and the jutting bone of his hip. “I can.” 

“Close your eyes.” Stan whispered. “Just focus on feeling it. That’s what I was just doing.” 

Rick complied, letting his eyes fall shut, but it wasn’t as shocking as a usual cut off from light, as the cave was already dim. He tried to reach out mentally to the certain something he could never touch. Stan was right- the clarity of it was striking. Rick reached out and let his hand rest at the middle of Stan’s chest as he sat flat on his back, wriggling himself in much closer to Stan’s side.

“It’s not like your drawings at all. I thought it would be.” Stan continued, Rick could feel his voice vibrating in his chest below his draped hand. “Flat, I mean, like the U’s and V’s on a graph. It’s not. Feel that? We’re… _corkscrewing_. Around each other.” 

“I feel it.” Rick whispered. Two points, always equidistant from each other. From above, it would have looked like two points forever spinning around and around a circular track, never getting any closer or farther away from each other. But Rick could feel what Stan was describing, the way those spinning points trailed behind corkscrew paths, paths that fit perfectly into the gaps in the other. 

Stan started up again and began planting kisses all over him, sucking lazily at fading splotches on his neck.

“I’m yours, Rick. All yours.” Stan muttered, turning his face inward toward Rick’s neck. “You’re… it. For me.” 

“What do you mean, ‘it’?”

“It means what I said.” Stan nearly grumbled. He knew Rick would ask questions he already knew the answer to sometimes, just to hear him say it twice. “I’ll never feel this way about anyone else.” 

“You say that now…” Rick began to protest, in his usual pessimistic way. 

“No, Rick.” Stan cut him off. “I know it. I feel it. I didn’t know if what you said before could actually be true. But now I know that it is.” Stan stared up at the galaxy of green dots smattered on the highest of the cave’s ceiling. “We match.”  

Stan planted a long kiss to the skin just below Rick’s jaw and settled his face there, his stubble pokey against Rick’s neck, his warm breath tickling his throat when he huffed out.

“You’re so good to me.” Rick whispered, turning his face just enough so that he could speak shyly into his hair. “I don’t know why. I don’t deserve–”  
  
“Shush.” Stan grumbled, adjusting so that his leg slotted into the space between Rick’s, and he stretched out his arm from hugging around Rick’s ribs to finding his hand and holding it in the dark, a few fingers were misaligned but it still felt just as safe.

"Bill, huh?" Stan sighed. "How are we going to fix this mess, Rick? This thing- this is as serious as it comes. Ford told me the way that Bill tricked him, too- I mean, this thing destroyed your _dimension_." 

"We'll figure something out, Stan." Rick answered vaguely, taking in a deep breath of the humid and warm air and letting the back of his head rest on a flat pile of stones.

"Yeah." Stan breathed out softly again and nuzzled into Rick. The rush of hormones from both of their orgasms was making both of them sleepy, and fast. "We can banish this demon, somehow. We can figure it out. And after, Rick: me, you and Ford... well, me n' Ford had plans on sailing around the world since we were kids. But I was thinkin'... why limit it to Earth? The three of us, we could sail the whole  _galaxy_."

"Yeah, Stan." Rick murmured, his tone extremely weak.

"Can't you imagine it, Rick? Leaving this shithole planet behind, just us and the stars?" Stan planted a kiss under his jaw, then tipped Rick's face toward him and hovered close, a smile plastered on his lips. "Hm? Whaddya say?"  

"Yeah," Rick whispered, unable to look Stan in the eyes. "We'll do that, Stan. Sail the galaxy, the three of us. You can go back to sleep, baby, if you want. I just wanted you to see this place. I'll bring us home, I'll put your clothes back on you."

"Mm." Stan hummed, shutting his eyes again. "Sounds nice, hon." Sleep began pulling him under fast enough judging by the way his limbs went limp and his breathing fell into a gentle rhythm.

Rick waited, until he was sure that Stan was deeply asleep, his profile and sharp jawline illuminated in faint green, as his chest softly rose and fell.

 _I love you._  

Rick didn’t let his vocal chords hum with this one, he didn’t even let any air out to form a whisper. Too risky. He just let his lips mouth it, in the darkness, to a slumbering man. It was still scary, and exhilarating, enough of a thrill to keep him wide awake for while more, just staring at the galaxy of green all around him, silently working up the courage to get up. 

He just wanted to have this one last memory with him, taking him to his personal favorite place in the universe, the private cave that he'd never brought another living soul before. He'd never thought Stan would be the one to make the first move, that he'd finally trust him enough to be on bottom. He never thought he'd be able to feel that sensation with him, feel the way their waves aligned so clearly.

He was already hurting thinking of how much Stan was going to hate him when he'd leave him behind, and with one less family member.

Rick finally stood up and slipped deftly out of Stan's thick arms, feeling along the wall for his hidden lever.

These glow worms had a lot of useful properties: the stretchiness and adhesiveness of their spiderweb-like fishing lines, and their toxic sacs they used to instantly kill the insects that tangled into their lines. It was one of the least painful way to go out. Virtually painless. At least Rick would give Ford that, zero pain. It was one of the ways Rick himself thought he might want to die, too. If it was good enough to give to himself, it was going to be some high-quality homicide.

He finally found the lever and pulled, and a square with lightly glowing edges forced outward with a thunk. He'd never opened it since he'd installed it, he'd never had to until now. It contained one large cylinder, and several other skinnier glass cylinders and a bunsen. Rick kept a tight-lipped, neutral expression on his face as he took out a small claw-ended device, and he pulled it to extend to its full length with the quiet shush of metal against metal. 

He plucked one of the worms off of the ceiling above him, and it squirmed and screeched in a high-pitched whine, which caused the surrounding worms to regress and fade with fright in a wide circle. Rick brought it down, watching its fat little glowing body thrash, its small mouth gnashing.

He placed the glowing worm into the glass cylinder, and the plunger came down with force and squashed it, cutting off the head-splitting shrill shrieks into pulverized goo. Rick slapped the crook of his elbow a few times, then slid in a hollow needle to extract his blood. Humans had plenty of chemicals in their blood, if you separated them efficiently it was very easy to have instant access to useful elements like hydrogen, oxygen, and iron. He'd need a few of those to combine and make the chemical for his portal gun.

While the chambers boiled, bubbled, and separated away, Rick slid down with his back to the wall, and held his cheek in one hand in defeat, his flat expression finally breaking into a deep, ugly frown. 

" _Fuuuck_." His hand pressed like a blindfold over his eyes instead. He needed a strong drink. Scratch that, he needed strong  _drinks_ , plural. Maybe then he could actually do some goddamn thinking.

If he killed Stanford, then dimension A-618 would never be destroyed in the catastrophic way that Rick's original universe C-137 had been. His mistake was something Rick regretted every day of his life, and now he had the opportunity to stop the same thing from happening all over again, staring him right in the face. 

But did he really have to do this? 

He waited for the chemicals to finish sorting, and slipped a neon green glowing stick no wider than the chamber of ink in a pen into a tiny hole in a panel at the back of his portal gun: that was just extra stretchy material he could use in the future, if his supply started to get low.

The other vial had just finished filling now, it was completely transparent with the faintest green glow. Rick plucked it from the machine, squinted at it and rotated it in his hands, over and over. It very clearly looked like poison.

He could see it clearly in his head, if he just snipped away all those pathetic emotional attachments that held the decision back like rope, what he _should_ do. Emotions made him irrational, made him make dumb mistakes. But still-

He could just barely see Stan sleeping off a ways, naked and a white-green against the dark stones, curled up, unconscious and unaware and so in love with Rick that he told him there would never be another. 

"Fuck this." Rick finally decided to leave the vial right next to his chemistry equipment, placing it down with a soft clink. He closed it up and put both hands on it, shoving it back with a thunk into the carved out space in the wall. If this stupid decision came back to bite him later, so be it, he would make more tough decisions then. This was one of those moments where he couldn't tell if he was weak, or strong, or maybe even both at the same time.

*   *   *

  
"Stanley."  
  
Stan stirred, grumbling and pulling Rick closer, with his arm tossed over his chest. The last thing he remembered, he was in some kind of cave, but now he was back in bed with Rick sleeping soundly in his arms. Rick must have shot a portal right beneath him: he could vaguely remember landing on something soft with a bounce.

"Psst! _Stanley!_ "  
  
Ford shook Stan's shoulder again, and Stan's eyes peeled open. "Mm. What?"

"Get up."  
  
"Unf," Stan took his arm off of Rick and ran a hand down his face, slapping his hand to the bedside table to find his glasses. "Ford? What, what is it?"  
  
"Come with me. While he's asleep." Ford already spun around, turned back and motioned repeatedly for him to follow. "Quickly. I don't want _him_ to see any of it."

The two brothers left the room and shut the door, the slat of light shrinking over the sleeping Rick until the door clicked into its latch.

Rick lay there motionless for a few minutes, until a bright burst of light strong enough to seep through the wooden boards glowed even under his eyelids. Rick jerked in his sleep and then gasped awake, patting at the bed next to him and shooting up straight when his hand didn't land on Stan. He slipped the blanket off and clutched it around his shoulders, and went searching through the creepy wooden house in the dark for the source of the light.

Rick heard shouting, and picked up the pace and raced down the stairs in the basement. Stan was turned away from him, and he pressed his hand firmly up against his back, where Rick could make out bare skin from where fabric had been burned away.

"-turned out to be," Stan said as he crept forward slowly to his brother. "You care more about your dumb mysteries than your family? Well then, you can have 'em!" Stan shoved a book up against the middle of Ford's chest, sending him just over the yellow-and-black striped cautionary line.

Ford began to float, kicking, his tan coat whipping with the sucking wind generated from the activated portal.

“Whoa, whoa, what’s going on?” Stan looked terrified, but frozen in place.

"Stanley, Stanley, _help me!_ " Ford twisted mid-air, kicking, but he was powerless against the pull. 

“Oh no- what do I do?!” Stan was still frozen in shock, eyes flitting over anything he could possibly use, but he was so panicked nothing was helping. 

“Stanley, Stanley— do something-" Ford's expression fell into astonishment when suddenly, a metal grappling hook shot just past his shoulder into the portal and there was a brown rope floating right there in front of him. His hand shot out to grab it, and his palm tightened around it just in time before it snapped taught and Ford was ankles-deep in the white-blue light in the portal's large circle. 

"Rick!" Stan looked back to see him holding on to the shooting end of the grappling hook, his teeth gritted hard and his eyebrows drawn down hard over his eyes, his feet already slid forward a few inches along the floor as he scrabbled for purchase. It might have been one of the best things Stan had ever seen.

 Stan wasted no time getting in front of him and taking the rope into his grip, and yanking on it as hard as he could. He thought it would have been easier: he would have been able to handle Ford's weight alone no problem, but whatever was causing that portal to suck in was putting up one hell of a fight.    
  
"Trajectories?" Stan grunted to Rick, anything to distract from the rope burn pains that felt like they were threatening to rip the skin from his palms.

"Yep," Rick barely managed to grunt through his gritted teeth, pulling with all his might and leaning backwards.  
  
"We got you!" Stan hollered up to his brother, who currently was shin-deep into the bright white-blue of the portal. Stan hissed at the burn of the rope as a few inches slid slowly within his palms. That had definitely just broken the skin for both hands. "Just hold on tight, Ford!"  
  
"Mmff... we need to anchor this!" Rick grunted, tugging backwards as best as he could, and Stan leaned back and tried to walk backwards, grunting loudly. Ford was having some difficulty, but he managed clamp his hand down lower on the rope and he managed to heave himself up to it, pulling himself out up to the ankles.  
  
"That's it! Climb down, Ford, hurry!" Stan roared over the loud blare of the machine in motion. The artificial wind swayed through his hair. Stan let out a low groan of pain as more rope slowly burned out of his hands, he could see redness staining the part that emerged from his strangling hands.  
  
"Stanley!" Ford's panicked voice barely carried over the noisy rush of the illuminated vortex. "The rope..! It's fraying!"  
  
Stan seemed to go into shock. He just couldn't process the image of that rope, right in the middle of the two of them, the way that it splintered and the line grew thinner as the outsides strained and tore away. The frayed parts of the rope were sucked upwards by the gravity of the portal, swaying. It felt like an eternity that he looked at the fraying rope, then at Ford's terrified expression as he still clung to it, but it must have passed in only a second.  
  
The rope snapped, audibly enough to hear over the loud rushing of the portal.  
  
" ** _STANFORD!_** " Stan screamed, watching as his form sank into the bright swirling whiteness, hand outstretched-  
  
The burst of light and the shockwave sent Stan and Rick backwards, sprawled out and knocked unconscious onto the hard concrete floor.

Rick was the one who woke up first, hissing in pain and his hand immediately flew to his tender, throbbing head. He looked over right away to Stanley, he was sprawled out like a tossed aside doll when he had been knocked out. 

"Stan," Rick crawled on all fours over to him, and stuck his finger under his nose just to make sure he was still breathing. Stan's eyes sprang open, and his hand shot over and grabbed onto Rick's clothing. 

"Bring. Him. Back," Stan hissed through his teeth, tears already streaming sideways out of his eyes. "You have a portal gun! **Find him!** "  

"I... can't do that, Stan." Rick's hand joined Stan's and tried to pry him off.

Stan groaned in pain when he adjusted and tried to stand. "See, now I get it. You  _let_ him." Stan growled low, his hand still twisted deeply in the fabric of Rick's shirt. "You let the portal stay on. You let him go through it! And now you're not even going to go looking for him?!" 

"Look, Lee, just one glance at this thing and I can tell they're no logging feature." Rick took Stan's wrist and tugged at it, harder this time. "Trust me, I made the same mistake when I made my first gun! I've... lost people this way, too. The multiverse is... huge, Brawns! He's _lost_ : like, a drop of water in the multiverse _ocean_ lost."  

"Cut out the nicknames, Rick! Did you let the portal stay on? Was that whole rescue... was that all just for show? So you could get to be the good guy? Huh?" Stan shoved Rick backward roughly and finally let go of him, and Rick pinwheeled his arms and fell hand on his ass. 

Rick scrambled backwards, climbing to his feet unsteadily. "You're concussed, Stanley, yu-you're confused!" 

"You had enough time." Stan pulled himself to his feet slowly, holding his throbbing head. "You're the genius, Rick! You could've shut the machine off, or- saved him another way! You _wanted_ him to leave! You've wanted to kill him, this whole time!" 

"Heyhey, hold up-" Rick innocently showed his palms, but knew that intense expression on Stan's face: he'd seen it flash too many times before bar brawls or street fights. Rick scampered to his feet and took off running, Stan barreling after him. Rick raced up the stairs, tripped, but managed to pick himself up before Stan could grab him, even though his fingers brushed his ankle. He needed access to his inventions, ones he'd left in the pockets of his lab coat.

Rick barely reached the bedroom in time, and curled his fingers around one of his devices before Stan's hand wrapped around his shin and dragged him backwards. Impulsively, Stan shoved Rick over onto his back and caged him with his body, ripped the pen-shaped invention out from his grip and folded it in half. It broke open, little multi-colored wires snapped and sparks burst. Stan threw it aside with a clatter, his lip still curling in anger. 

" _No_. You don't get to do that." He nearly snarled. "You don't just get to knock me out and leave me. Leave me like you always do!  I know you, Rick. Know you probably as well as anyone can know you. You want to leave after this, to run away from Bill again. Run away from the Council's shit. You want to leave me behind. That's why you brought me to that cave, right? To say goodbye?" Stan grabbed his wrists, desperate. Stan was once again unsure of his own strength when he pinned Rick down, wrestling him to the ground. "Don't do this, Rick, _please!_ " 

It felt like being stung by some kind of mega-bee on his side just below his ribs. Stan yelped at the pain, and suddenly he crumpled over Rick, pinning him underneath, and Rick yanked his hand away, some blood trickled out from the puncture. He had a blood-dipped point, like a rose thorn, sticking out from the middle of a contraption he held in his palm, wrapped like one of those handshake shockers in a ring around his middle finger.

"What... what did you do," Stan puffed, scared he wouldn't be able to breathe as he felt all of his limbs go completely numb, and he lay on his belly on the floor with his arms bent in angles over his head. "I can't... _huff_... I can't feel my legs... I can't... I can't move..." 

"Once, Stan. That's all it would take, is me fucking up once, and I lose you forever. Everywhere. You don't have the same dimensional adaptation that I do. If you die, Stanley, even once, it's..... no. I can't risk that. I can't take you with me while I lay low." Rick stood over him, and Stan strained his eyes all the way to the side, his face was paralyzed at a bad angle with one half of it pressed to the floor. "Stan, I'm sorry. This is the only way."  
  
"It's... _not,_ the only way." Stan enunciated slowly, it was hard to get out every word but he managed. "Rick... please..."  
  
Rick squatted down into a frog-crouch and smoothed his thumb tenderly on Stan's cheek. Stan's thick eyebrows crumpled together, and he was still wheezing and huffing hard.

"I'm sorry." Rick spoke over him. "I already gave it time, Stan. I've already thought out every possible solution I could. I need you safe. I need you _alive_."

Stan shut his eyes, his breathing labored. He wasn't dumb: he knew when he'd lost.  
  
"There's a war coming." Rick finally admitted. "It's dangerous. It's gonna be huge. I mean, interdimensional, intergalactic, fuckin' **huge**. And I don't want you anywhere near it."  
  
"Then- I don't want you- near any of that either," Stan growled, his utter powerlessness now that his body had gone limp brought frustrated tears to wet his eyes. "God _dammit-_ "  
  
"I'll come back to you." Rick's tears flowed freely down his face. “But right now? I need to do everything in my power to somehow find Ford, to keep him safe. To make sure your brother doesn’t die out there in the multiverse. But that’s a full time job, Stanley, even with the Council helping out. I can only protect one of you that fully. It has to be him. No breaks in the chain for him, either. One time, one accident, in a single dimension. That’s all it would take, to wipe him from existence. Many of me... are going to die to protect him. In his place. That's what I have to do, that's what I'll do for you, Stan."   
  
He crouched down, and held Stan's head in his arms. Tears blotted into the fabric of his pants, and Stan sniffed quietly.

"I would die for you." Rick whispered, dipping down low to speak into his ear. "And a lot of me are going to. For you, for your brother. Because I- I-"  
  
"Rick..." Stan's voice was low, desperate, begging. Rick's hand twisted and grabbed a handful of his hair, so that Stan's eyes would widen at the pain. The device flashed like a bolt of lightning. 

Stan crumpled, his head falling to rest on the floor, his facial expression completely slack. His eyes remained open, but the the lids had fallen partway over them. He'd only be awake for about three more seconds, since he was fighting it as hard as he could. He realized he'd torn apart the wrong pen-like device, the one that vaporized liquids.  
  
Rick touched his face, more tears streaking in shiny lines down his face. After fighting it back as hard as he possibly could, just to look at Rick for as long as he could, Stan finally blacked out.

*   *   *

Birdperson knew he shouldn't say much or ask for an explanation when he found Rick passed out in a pile of gangly limbs on his welcome mat, partway slumped over his door with patches of vomit surrounding him. He was clutching a patched-up Tracker with multiple layers of masking tape and exposed red, blue, white and yellow wires in his drunken attempt to repair the thing.

Rick slept wrapped up in his bandmate's wings in his nest that night, and he wound up shouldering the wing too many times to feel around for the Tracker in the dark and refresh the statistic. He needed to make sure all of the other Ricks were doing the same thing, keeping Stan safe, no matter how much it hurt to leave him.

"What do the numbers say now?" Birdperson asked quietly, yawning.

"Down to almost forty percent." Rick shoved the Tracker into a small pocket between a few twigs in the nest and gripped his friend's soft wing, pulling it over his chest like a blanket once again.

"You want to talk about it, yes?" His friend asked from behind him, monotonous as ever. "You have checked dozens of times now, Rick." 

"Fuck no, I don't wanna talk about it." Rick squeezed his eyes shut and curled his fingers around the top curve of his wing, pulling it to fit more securely around himself. "Shut up so I can get back to sleep."

*   *   *

Something dropped like a stone in his stomach, pressing down inside him heavy and cold, before Stan even opened his eyes. 

He was still paralyzed, and a belt had been wrapped around his forearm, and a numb hand held an empty hypodermic, like he'd been shooting up. A set up.

All Stan could do for now was look and observe. He'd been brought back to their old apartment. The living room seemed so empty, all of Rick's stuff had disappeared, just leaving their shapes lined in dust along the walls. 

The rug hiding Rick's Lab hatch was gone, and instead of the trick door that blended into the floor, it was only cement.  
  
There was nothing but a big, square of ugly grey cement. By the looks of it and its darker color, it was still drying. Rick must have really filled it all in. Stan just stared at that dull square that used to be a staircase down into a grand and fascinating Laboratory.  
  
"This can't be happening." Stan whispered, tried to flex his hands into fists, but his grip was extremely weak. He could still barely even move.   
  
"Goddammit, Sanchez." He sighed, letting his head flop back against the back of the couch.

It felt like it took maybe half an hour and a lot of wiggling his toes and fingers, but finally Stan was able to regain enough feeling in his limbs to rip the stupid set-up off of his arm and cautiously climb to his feet. Stan unsteadily picked his way to his bedroom, swaying like a drunkard. 

Rick had even taken the little invention he'd made for him in the beginning, the contraption he'd stick in his ear that would help with his tinnitus that lingered from too many hits in his boxing days. It was like he'd never even been there in the first place.  
  
Stan kneeled before his dresser, it was the only place he could have hid it seeing that it was pretty much the only piece of furniture in the room. He knew Rick wouldn't have the heart to take it away, especially not after he compared it to a kid of his.  
  
Stan pawed his way through drawer after drawer. Finally, he thought he saw the smooth texture of glass, and yelped happily. "Stan Junior..!"  
  
Rick had shoved the jar of eyeballs into the very back of Stan's underwear drawer, and the half-filled jar of multicolored eyes all swiveled to look at him. Stan cried out a broken laugh, and hugged the jar tight to his chest.  
  
He missed him already.  
  
Stan laid down on his bed with a shuffle, kicking his feet up and locking his ankles over the headboard.  
  
"Geniuses, man." He sighed and stared up at the ceiling. He reached over to his bedside table for a bottle, of anything, didn't matter what, and began to take deep pulls. "These goddamn geniuses."  
  
It was about two hours later that the DEA forced themselves in and broke down the front door. Stan was just a hair over being blacked out drunk by then. They broke the thin, cement cover to the Lab with sledgehammers. A gigantic stock of all kinds of hard drugs were in the empty dugout, and Stan knew exactly where Rick had taken them from: back from when Unity assimilated police members to break into where they kept it all contained. He realized Rick must have been planning this for a very, very long time now.  
  
Stan went out in handcuffs. He knew he'd be sent to prison for this, the amount of drugs he'd been "hiding" was no doubt record-breaking. Rick probably thought prison was going to be safe, the safest place for him to be while he figured things out with the Council, while he hid from Bill Cipher.

Stan missed him too much to be angry just yet.

That night he squatted at the toilet in his orange jumper, retching and puking up the prison slop that he'd suspected he wouldn't be able to keep down for very long. While he dozed off rockily with his cheek to the cool metal of the bowl, waiting for the next round of stomach spasms to hit, he dreamed of the three of them, together, sailing through the cosmos in a shapeship version of the Stan O' War, thought of the way the stars would float serenely by in all directions. Ford would be named the next Darwin, with all of space as his Galapagos. He thought of all of the awards his brother would get, how happy that would make him. He thought of Rick, behind a big wooden wheel like a proper Captain, wide-stanced, with a smirk to match. 

He generally was good at telling when Rick was lying to him. 

_I'll come back to you._

"I'll hold you to it," Stan croaked hoarsely to himself. 


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Don't have sex, because you will get pregnant and die." -Coach Carr, _Mean Girls_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry this chapter took this long to publish! A lot of the time was because I went back and did some more editing and adding to previous chapters. Hopefully some of the scenes are a little less rough now, I tried? (If you want, check out ch 21: by popular demand, I stunk in another smut scene ;) )
> 
> And surprise surprise, guys. I split the chapter.  
> But did anybody _not_ expect me to pull this? Again?? After all the times I've done this to you before??? C'mon now, it's like you guys don't even know me, haha. Anyway, the real final chapter will be #23!
> 
> This one didn't go a direction I saw it going in at all. This one's very weird and not what I was expecting to write. And dark. I'm so sorry, I don't know why it became so dark, this may have been another reason why this took so long. 
> 
> CW includes: oviposition (depositing eggs, not laying), a variation of mpreg, and some graphic gore. If these squick you out, please skip the passage!! The passage will have a ● to mark the beginning and a ○ at the end for an all clear.

_May, 1984_

His hair was brown, this time.

His subconscious finally decided to get that one pesky detail right.

He could feel how close the two of them were, Rick's warm nose nudging up to the side of his, he smelled of alcohol and tobacco on his breath. Rick pursed his lips and blew the gentlest stream of tobacco smoke over Stan's nose and mouth, and Stan breathed in deeply to catch as much of it as he could.

This was primo smoke, he hadn't had a cigarette this good in over a year and he missed it, bad. But not as badly as the person supplying it to him.

It was dark, but that signature green glow of his came from pinpricks of light all above them, they were back in the private isolation of Rick's glow worm cave. 

"Hi, honey." Stan whispered. This felt so  _real_. "It's been a while, huh?" 

"Hey, Lee." Rick crooned softly just under his breath, more smoke curling out of his mouth. One of Rick's arms hooked around his side and pressed an spread hand to his lower back, the other hand cupping his ear with his thumb caressing his cheek. "You miss me?"

Stan nodded, his eyes falling closed as he wrapped his hand around Rick's hip and leaned into the kiss. This right here was the thing Stan missed the most about him. He'd almost forgotten what the sensation of another pair of lips on his even felt like.

Rick was closing in slowly, their faces just inches apart, Stan could  _almost_  feel the achingly familiar warm press of Rick's lips, when-

Stan's eyelids fluttered, then his eyes snapped open, and the the image of Rick quickly dissipated. That certain green glow, he could have sworn he could still see it, glowing just beyond his closed eyelids...

He blinked up at the mattress above his, tucking his hands behind his head and sighing. His cellmate was snoring loudly, wheezing in and rumbling out from deep within his throat. Sometimes when he slept he could forget he was in prison, for "drug possession with the intent to distribute". A crime he, for once, never actually committed.

Stan looked around the darkened room, but the green flash had only been a part of the dream. For around the first six months in this place Stan saw Rick in his dreams almost every night, but they started to fade more as time went on, especially since Stan tried so hard to shove him from his thoughts. Now, they were few and far between. But they still happened, sometimes, no matter how hard Stan tried to stop them.

He could feel the stickiness of sweat blotting at his upper back, behind his neck, moisture underneath his arms. A few strands of hair were stuck to his forehead, and he swiped them away in irritation. These were sweltering summer nights, and Stan missed his ceiling fan more than anything, even if it ticked the way it had.

It must have been in the middle of the night, but he really needed a cigarette. He usually needed one when the thought of Rick crossed his mind. He got out of bed and felt along the wall in the dark for where he stashed his contraband, but he did a double take when he thought he could still see that lime green, somehow.

The glow was coming from the steel toilet, rippling water dancing along the wall above it. Stan took a hesitant step forward, before finally throwing himself the rest of the distance and catching himself on the edges of the bowl.

He stared down at the lime green portal in disbelief as it swirled slowly, light and dark green slid across one another in a lazy whirlpool. Stan's heart leapt to his throat.

Rick was a  _God_. 

Rick was also the biggest fucking asshole on planet Earth. 

The portal was only about the size of a dinner plate, and chances were slim he would even be able to fit his head in there, much less have his body follow. Was this his idea of a sick joke? He couldn't get out of this place with a portal that small! And the fact he'd decided to place it in their disgusting toilet in the middle of a hot summer night was just the cherry on top of Rick's assholeness.

Stan hesitated as he just stared down at the toilet portal, trying to find the courage to speak. It had been so long since he'd talked to Rick, and he tried hard not to think about him, or miss him, but-

"Hey," Stan hissed, the green light illuminating his face in an unearthly glow. " _Asshole_." 

The portal simply observed his words, swirling all the while. 

"This isn't big enough." Stan whispered. He finally made himself shove his hand through with a wrinkle on his nose, it swallowed it up to the wrist, and he waved it around inside. "Hello? Can you hear me? There's no way I'm gettin' through-"

Before Stan could finish his sentence, the floor dropped out from under him as the portal expanded in an instant, sucking all of the air from his lungs. Stan fell hard onto his shoulder onto the marble below, and sat there groaning and coughing for a moment at the unexpected burst of pain.

Then, he found the coughs turning quickly into a bought of laughter. It started out as small chuckles at first, but finally grew into roars as he lay spread eagle flat on his back. He just wished he could see the look on the warden's face when everyone thought he'd escaped into thin air, like a Houdini trick. He was finally out of that dump! He was free as a bird! They could all kiss his ass, he was  _out!_

He finally sat up, gripping onto his pulsating shoulder. Still sitting, his head swiveled as he took in what he figured was probably another version of Rick's Lab. This one looked a lot fancier than the dugout he was used to under their apartment, with swirls of grey and white marble tiles underfoot instead of hard packed dirt, white Greek pillars stretching up to meet the very high ceilings with log-thick wires, tied together in increments, running parallel along the ceiling.

Much of it was shrouded in darkness, and tall, rectangle computation structures dominated one wall, blinking and stuttering green and white lights like city skyscrapers. From what he could see from the meager light overhead was a jungle of chemistry equipment, a half-finished weapon the size of a bazooka with its tools scattered around it on the worktable, and a large object shaped like a pill, where Stan could just barely make out the human figure laying inside.

Stan climbed to his feet, still cradling his shoulder with one arm across his chest, and approached very slowly. Rick, or  _a_  Rick at least, was bundled up inside of the glass cylinder, eyes firmly shut. He had a black snout-like breathing apparatus on his face with two thick tubes sprouting out from either side, which connected to two steel oxygen tanks fixed onto the sides of the machine but gave him an insect-like appearance. A black hexagon, like a bolt, was fitted to one temple, a small light in the middle blinking green. Both of his pale arms that rested at his sides above blankets were stuffed with jumbles of needles with tubing.

He was very unconscious, and the baby-yellow floral pattern blanket wrinkled and wrapped around his body looked strangely out of place for the sleek capsule. Stan wondered briefly who must have put that there with him. The blanket hid most of his body from view, but just from the twiggy quality of his arms and extreme hollow in his throat, sinewy neck, and concave cheeks with their high cheekbones, Stan could tell this Rick was probably not much more than a skeleton with skin.

"Rick," Stan's heart jumped to his throat and he found his hand pressing up against the glass that protected him. It could have just been a random Rick in the capsule, but Stan somehow felt a hunch that it had to be his. He squinted, and saw maybe less than a centimeter of brown roots growing out from his scalp, they must have grown out that much since he'd been sealed up in this thing. He must have actually been keeping up with dyeing it nowadays, because he needed to, which probably wasn't a good sign. 

The glass was cold to the touch, and condensation formed almost immediately around his hand to line his fingers in white. The breathing tubes hissed quietly, and Rick's chest softly inflated in an unnatural way, like he wasn't the one doing the breathing.

Suddenly, Stan snapped out of it, tossing his head from side to side and his brows drew down angrily. 

"No," Stan stumbled backward and curled his hand that had previously rested with such concern on the glass into a tight fist. " _No_. You left me. You ran away, when I needed you most, right after Stanford-! And you set me up with all those drugs you stole, you sent me to fucking  _prison_?!" 

The comatose Rick said nothing in response, of course. 

" _Fuck_  you!" Stan breathed heavily, and strode up to the capsule and knocked it hard with his fist.

"What kind of a boyfriend does that? How could you leave me-- after you told me-- when you said I was  _made_  for you! So was I?! Or was that just another stupid,  _fucking_  lie?!" Stan punched the capsule again, and this time it was hard enough for it to rock a little, swaying from side to side and jostling the sleeping Rick before stopping again. A few knuckles had split open at that, leaving three small splotches of blood on the glass. 

Stan huffed hard, clasping his throbbing hand in his other and staring down at Rick's neutral expression beneath the thing strapped to most of his face. 

"I'm going to have to ask you to stop." A familiar voice called out softly from behind Stan. "He's delicate at the moment."

Stan turned around, slowly, embarrassed at being caught. How could he be so stupid? Of course the Rick sealed up inside of that thing wasn't the one who had brought him here. 

As he approached out of a darker corner of the lab, Stan realized this was the first Rick he'd ever seen with tamed hair. It was slicked back nicely, and  _brown_ , which threw him off for a second. He was wearing a well tailored, black and white tuxedo that hugged his thin frame in all the right places, but without a tie. The ice cubes in his glass tinkled softly as the Rick flicked his wrist, tossing the brown liquid into gentle swirls. 

"Which one are you? Why did you bring me here? And the Rick in there... he's mine, isn't he?" Stan fired off, feeling nervous as this tuxedo'd Rick calmly approached, stalking up confidently with thin legs that made him seem like some kind of heron. 

"I go by Formal Rick by the Council." He explained, his tone even and measured. "But please, just refer to me as R. I'm not on the best terms with the council at the moment- I was recently fired." 

"Oh, yeah? From what?" Stan asked.

Formal paused for a moment, and brought the glass to his lips in a small, elegant sip. Clearly, that was one question he was refusing to answer. "-And I brought you here because I jumped to the conclusion that you'd rather be here than in  _prison_ , yes?" 

Stan decided to ignore the way he sneered a little at the word. Stan felt out of place in his orange jumpsuit next to someone so well dressed, and he knew he must have smelled terrible. This Rick was little too high-brow for his taste, he thought, and he told himself he refused to feel judged. 

"What happened to him." Stan demanded, pointing, and stealing a glance at the sleeping Rick once again. 

 "That's what the two of us are about to find out." Formal replied, a little patronizing, and took out the pocket square and wiped away Stan's splotches of blood on the glass, speaking all the while. "I got a personal distress signal from his Tracker. All I know is when I showed up at the scene, he'd lost almost all of the blood in his body." 

"Blood loss?" Stan blinked in confusion. "That's why he's in there? But he's skin and bones!" 

"It would appear so. The loss sent him into hypovolemic shock, but-" Formal turned around to the shelving near Rick's capsule, reaching into a compartment with his back to Stan. "I'm assuming something else caused him to wither away before I found him. He was already weak. The only things I found at the scene were these two creatures."

Stan watched in wonder as Rick turned around holding a large jar, the water tinted green as the bloated and preserved body of a coiled-up alien floated inside, its skin a sickly pale pink. It looked a little bit like Unity's real body, but there were some fundamental differences. Unity's body had been grey, armored with a hard protective shell around it like a lobster's, and thousands of legs like bristles. This one was pink and soft-shelled, like human skin. It was only about the size of a small garden snake, with fewer legs, spaced out and bent at angles like a cockroach's. Stan involuntarily shuddered and looked away, it was disgusting to look at.

"You look like you recognize something about this." Formal prompted, bringing the jar up to his face and rotating it slightly as he observed the dead creature inside. Stan didn't know how he could stand to look at it that close.

"Yeah. It sorta looks like Unity. But that's all I can tell ya." Stan shrugged.

"Unity?" 

Stan scoffed and turned his head to the side. "Some... alien worm hivemind Rick dated for a while, before we got together. You don't talk like a Rick, you know." 

It seemed like Formal was going to ignore the comment at first. "I... trained myself out of it," He finally answered simply.

"Riiight," Stan crossed his arms. So, this was one of those Ricks that must have been very different from his own. Even though a variation of his was standing right in front of him, Stan missed his own Rick with a sudden sharp pang that passed through his chest. 

"This one was already dead when I arrived." Formal put the jar back into place in its compartment. "But this one-" The next creature he pulled out was unprotected by glass, like a tiny statue. The poor creature's deformed and melting facial features were frozen in a scream of agony, its lumpy and melty body also triggering a response in Stan that something was deeply wrong about it, biologically. "Rick chose to keep this one in a state of cryogenisis. To put off fixing it for later, I'm guessing."

"What the hell are those things?" Stan kept his distance on the other side of the capsule, not wanting to get any closer and keeping the sleeping Rick in between them. 

"No idea." Formal replied, his voice distant, as he very gently placed the frozen creature back onto the shelf next to the dead, coiled pink worm pickled in formaldehyde. "So let's find out, shall we?" 

Stan watched as Formal went to the foot of the capsule and very carefully adjusted a few dials. 

"I'm bringing his consciousness up to the lowest level." Formal explained as he rubbed his chin and decided to turn one dial up one more notch, then hit a green button, and finally shut the panel. "Unlike...  _ehem_... before, he'll actually be able to hear us this time." 

 Stan felt his ears burn with embarrassment that Formal had heard everything he'd shouted to Rick before he knew he was in the room. The two of them stood on either side and looked down at Rick, the machine artificially inflated his lungs again. The button caused a needle with a small vial pop out from inside, and it slipped into the nape of the sleeping Rick's neck.

"Hello, C-137." Formal began calmly. "I know you can hear me. I'm the Rick that responded to your distress call. I'm going to attempt to extract your memories so we can figure out what happened to you. It would be best for all of us if you were cooperative."

After a moment, Formal crouched down and saw that nothing had come out into the vial. He sighed and placed his hands on the glass to straighten up once again. "Well, I can't say I didn't expect this. You must have noticed how I said 'we'. I know you can't open your eyes, I'm sure you don't have to to believe me. You can sense his brain waves, can't you? Stanley Pines of A-618 is here with us, and he'd also like to know what happened." 

That seemed to do the trick. The first droplet of yellow-clear fluid dribbled into the vial, until it was almost halfway full and the leak slowly came to a stop. Stan found it strange that he didn't need to say a word for Rick to believe it, but maybe he really had been able to feel him in the room.  

"Now you understand why I brought you here. You're the only one he trusts." Formal adjusted away at the control board again, pressed another button, and the vial dispensed out of it. Formal snatched it up, and twirled it within his fingers. "Now, which one of us would like to do the honors?" 

Stan took a deep breath to try and steady his nerves. He sat in front of a repurposed arcade game called  _Roy: Beta_. Formal was going to be seeing it on the screen too, but the way the helmet covered his eyes just made the whole thing feel way too up close and personal, like a show meant just for him. He felt when Formal fitted the vial into hole at the front of the helmet, then watched as Formal flipped a button.

“Look here.” Formal swung the googles down like the mirror in a car over his eyes and the image was blurry at first, but his eyes adjusted. 

It was a strange, off-planet jungle of mostly purple vines and plants. It was clearly night time, but somehow it wasn't too hard to see, the bathing of gentle silver light like a very strong full moon. A lumpy brown, toad-like creature sat on top of a boulder, staring down at him, and Stan jolted as the image blinked, but without the sensation of his own lids sliding across his eyeballs. Stan had to force himself to realize that he was watching this unfold through Rick's eyes. 

"Unity?" Rick asked, crouching down to look at the creature closely. It was about the size of a large pancake, and its rounded sides that extended out were just as flat. The creature just grunted. 

"If you're Unity, croak twice." Rick said wearily. Clearly, this method hadn't been working too well for him. The frog-like alien blinked again, then hopped down off of the boulder with a flap of its sides and continued to hop.

Rick noticed the way that every creature in the forest was running the same direction, and Rick began to follow the stampede, running along with strange deer with intricate horns and gigantic flightless birds. Finally, it opened up into a clearing, a throne made of pale antlers, where a nude plump blonde woman bit down into more fruit, the purple juices running down her chin and staining her chest, underneath three differently sized moons, like some kind of ancient goddess. 

"Unity." Rick fell to his knees in exhaustion and relief for finally finding the Root after months of planet-hopping, the hivemind was still in the body of the blonde human neighbor he'd kidnapped. "Yu-You've assimilated almost every animal on the planet, huh? Impressive. This looks like a great start to your colony- just add a couple million years here and sprinkle in some selective breeding there, and this place could start looking a lot like Earth."

"What are you here for, Rick? I thought we agreed to part ways." Unity sank its teeth into another fruit, loud sucking sounds filled the air. "Unless..." 

"Please. I've been looking for you for months." Rick gave into the position, even though it must have humiliated him. He lowered his head, his arms stretched out in front of him, in a deep, sitting bow. "Please. I need it. Need  _you_." 

"I've settled here! I'm doing what my parents always wanted me to do," Unity's tone sank. "Like you said, it's impressive, right?"

"You're not done having fun, are you? You miss Earth." Rick looked up to see the conflicted expression on Unity's borrowed face. "Come back with me."

"Rick-"

" _In_  me. I want to host you. I want to be your new Root." Rick surged forward and grasped at Unity's hands, squeezing them, even though they were dark with juice. "Come home with me." 

Stan couldn't help the angry growl that rumbled up his throat. Rick on his hands and knees, begging, desperate, crawling back to his ex like this- it was a terrible look on him. Why didn't he just find  _him_  first? Stan hadn't gone anywhere except sit in a cell on Earth, exactly in the same, very findable place, but Rick went through all the trouble to track down Unity somewhere in the galaxy?

“Rick- what the hell do you think you’re  _doing_ -” Stan warned through gritted teeth, not caring that Formal could hear.

In the blink of an eye, they were somewhere else, another memory. Rick rolled along a huge king-sized bed, tangling his legs in the sheets, toes curling into them with pleasure. He moaned loudly, throwing his head back. His hand worked at his stiff cock, and his stomach was a little pudgier than the rest of his body, because Unity was now hosted inside. Rick's other arm was bent behind him, and Stan got a glimpse of a red dildo thrusting quickly into his hole.

Rick collapsed after the orgasm hit, panting and squeezing his hands into the sheets, after he regained control over them. It was less masturbation, and more of the parasite in his body taking control of his arms and fucking him. He rode through the waves of pleasure, and Unity's voice came from inside his head this time. 

 _Rick,_  it said with hints of panic.  _Something's different this time_. 

"What are you talking about, Yoon?" Rick panted, struggling to regain his breath. "That was one of the best-" 

_I came, too. Not through you, my **own**  body. I think I'm still coming right now._

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Rick fired out, before intaking a harsh breath.

●

His hands flew to the area of the spike of pain, and from underneath the skin just above his hip he could see a sharp object pressing up against his skin like an internal thorn. "Ow, shit!" 

_I'm still climaxing- hmnn, Rick- feels so fucking good-_

"Unity! Stop, you have to-" Rick's eyes rolled back as he felt it, the passing of something out from the stinger into his body. Forget the refractory period, Rick was orgasming dry again already, the sheer unexpectedness of it making him cry out and collapse.

Rick pressed his hand firmly up against his side, panting.

"Take it out, take it back out-" Rick yelped, and whimpered softly in relief as he felt the sharp stabbing pain regress. He flopped onto his back, breathing hard with his hand still pressing down hard on his side. The two of them just watched the ceiling for a moment through Rick's eyes, unsure how to process what had just happened. 

○

"What the fuck was that," Rick panted. "What the  _fuck_ , Unity." 

 _I don't know,_ The parasite said from within Rick's head.  _That's never happened to me before._

"Well, clearly it has to do with sex!" Rick shouted up to the ceiling. "So, wh-what do you know about your species' reproduction?" 

There was a very loaded pause.

"Unity!" Rick demanded again, panic setting judging by the way his voice trembled.

_I... don't know that much, okay? I ran away from home young, you already knew that. They don't teach this stuff until we get older, I left before I got to-_

"Some type of stinger came out of you, Yoon, I felt it- it passed something into me." Rick pressed half of his face to the mattress, the heel of his palm digging deep into his side. " _Unnf_. I can feel it."

"That's not possible." Unity took over and spoke through his mouth this time. "I shouldn't- I'm not part of my species that's able to do that."

Rick pulled himself up and unsteadily got to his feet. "I-I'm gonna run some tests, see if-  _unnnf_." Rick doubled over, both hands clutching at the space just below his ribs on his left side. His knees buckled and hit the floor hard.

"Rick!" Stan accidentally yelped and grasped at only air, completely forgetting that he was only watching a memory. He felt someone's hand on his arm, pressing reassuringly. Right, Formal was seeing everything he was seeing.

Rick grimaced and let his head droop down until it connected to the floor, he tried his best to breathe evenly. Stan knew this position from him well: he was doing everything he could to fight off nausea. Stan was glad that viewing the memory didn't include sensations: the pain must have been unbearable. 

Stan white-knuckled the armrests on the seat, his breathing gone ragged as he watched as Rick struggled into his very rudimentary new Lab to run tests.

Those creatures Formal had shown him... Unity's root body had really implanted those into Rick's body? Why didn't Rick do anything to get  _rid_  of them? He was smart enough to figure out how to do it, right? Which meant he must have chosen to-

Stan ripped the headset off of his face. Stan slammed the helmet down on the armchair as it played the white glow of Rick's ribcage, not caring about if he'd damage it or not. He roughly swiped at his bloodshot, leaking eyes, and began to storm away.

Formal was at his heels right away, he was able to close the distance quickly with his long legs until he'd matched Stan's strides. 

"Fuck off." Stan spat at him, not even looking at him as he kept up his pace and continued to pump his arms back and forth. "Leave me alone." Damn, did his hallway ever end? How  _big_  was this place?

"It makes sense, why he went back to Unity." Formal offered unhelpfully, trailing behind him and blabbering on all the while. "He was possessed for so long, he forgot how to be alone in his mind. You don't just bounce back from a co-dependent situation like that. That's why he wanted Unity to be in his head, searched for it all over the universe. He wanted to be possessed again. That was the closest he could get to it without  _actually_  crawling back to Bill Cipher."

"Don't say that demon's name." Stan snarled and finally planted his feet and spun to look at him, fists tight on either side. "Not after what he did to Rick. Not after what he did to Ford." 

"...Ford?" Formal tipped his head curiously to the side, like a dog.

"I'm done here." Stan said gruffly, reaching out and twisting his hand into Formal's button up white shirt. "Portal me somewhere else. Anywhere but here."

"Ah, but we're not done yet." Formal stepped back and smoothed down the front of his shirt. "There's still more to the memory. There was still more left in the vial." 

"So? Watch it yourself, if you're so fuckin' interested in another Rick's business. I'm done." Stan couldn't help but shove him by the shoulders, and tried to keep walking. 

"You don't know where you're going. You'll get lost in this place." Formal piped up from where he was leaving him behind. "Come on. We'll take a breather. Let me show you around." 

Stan hesitated, but finally sighed and spun back around. Formal smirked at that, and to try and hide it brought his glass up to his lips again. 

"Follow me," He beckoned, and turned around. 

When Stan finally caught up with him, Formal began again in his infuriatingly monotone voice. 

"They call it the green monster for a reason, you know. You feel that building up, right there in your chest, don't you?" He said, and Stan just wished he could punch the smug little fucker in the face. He should have known he'd be an asshole by that stunt with putting that portal in the prison toilet. Stan said nothing, just bit down on his teeth a little harder.

"I'm very familiar with the feeling myself. Pure jealousy." Formal followed up, his tone finally dipping down a little lower and was a little less robotic. "Do you know what it's like, to be depraved of your soulmate?"

Stan was taken aback, and looked to the side to meet Formal's eyes, and was surprised to find so much sorrow there. "Wait, you're not... you're not talking about  _me,_  are you?" 

"Only a lucky eleven percent of us have you in our dimensions." Formal replied, taking a sharp turn down one of the hallways. "And I happen to be one of them." 

"Well-- where is he?" Stan stumbled to keep up, and blinked owlishly. They stopped in front of an elevator, and Formal didn't answer right away and pressed the call button.

Formal had to look away, and took another swallow, a little less gracefully and more rushed this time. "We have never met. I always  _wanted_  to meet him. I tried, but I-I was... I never got the chance to. Then the council declared a ban of contact for your safety." He tipped back his head and slid the rest of his drink down his throat swiftly.

The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open to reveal a very fancy, mirrored elevator with matching marble on the floor.

"I have something to show you." Formal declared and stepped inside, and Stan followed him into the elevator, letting the curiosity get the best of him. 

They went up a few floors, and stepped out into an ornate living room, lavish velvet couches positioned around a brimming silver fruit bowl on the middle of a dark wood table, all overlooking floor-to-ceiling windows with views of a bright blue bay teeming with boats and white triangles from the many sailboats below.

There was a lone armchair facing out the window, and a small side table with a crystal glass of brandy, stacked cups, and cigars nestled in red velvet, the type of seat someone clearly sat in and watched out the window for hours.

"Whoa," Stan couldn't help but express. The last time he'd been in a place this fancy, he'd been robbing it. He grabbed one of the fresh red apples and wandered up to the armchair, looking at the fruit in the light of the window. It looked so good, he realized how much he'd hated that shitty prison food as his mouth watered.  

Formal came up to him and all but shoved a picture frame at Stan, and immediately looked away bashfully, he tipped more out from a flask this time, a little more like the Rick he knew. Stan flipped the frame over, and saw a photo cut out from a newspaper clipping.

" **Local Fisherman's Record-Setting Marlin Catch!** ", the headline said in extra large letters. The second column of the article's continuation was skinnier and pasted right next to it.

Stan climbed into the armchair to take a longer look at the photo. It was of himself, wearing a red beanie and long black rubber boots, standing next to a gigantic half-blue half-white fish with a long nose like a sword, strung up by its tail from the back of the boat. This Stan was playfully hugging the hanging fish to his side, his other fist pumped triumphantly into the air, a gigantic sunny grin on his face at the catch. Stan took his first bite out of the apple and chewed, looking to Formal to explain.

"My Stan- he's a skilled fisherman." Formal reached out and tenderly touched the golden frame on the photo. "I always look for him in the papers. I have ten different daily subscriptions. But so far, I've only found two. The other is just a mention." 

"That's why I love this harbor view." Formal sighed, tucking his hands behind his back and stepping closer to the huge windows, his back to Stan. "I watch these boats come in every day. I can spot his easily now. I wake up early to see him go out for the day, and wait for his boat to come back and dock safely. I've bought some of the fish he's caught at the market. They're delicious, of course." He indicated to the side table with a short nod, still not bothering to face Stan as he watched the harbor. 

"Care for a cigar?" He asked politely, and Stan didn't need to be asked twice. He snatched one up, lighting it from a match without a second's hesitation. He puffed out and hummed in contentment, his eyes shutting with pleasure. This was everything he could have asked for, as he double-fisted an apple in one hand and a Cuban cigar in the other. 

"Stanley." Formal's voice had dipped down to something closer to a whisper. "Yu-you w-wanted to know my Council job, right?" 

Ah, so the stuttering would still come out if he got emotional enough, Stan realized. 

Stan didn't have to see him to know how upset talking about this was making him. Enough though no one was looking at his face, Formal still turned his cheek to one side and hung his head the way Stan had seen Rick do what felt like hundreds of times. "I was part of... a specialized triad, the assassins. And I- I've... killed close to one million Ricks." 

Stan was glad the Rick wasn't looking at him, because he wouldn't have been able to mask the shocked expression that forced itself onto his face. That must have been the reason why he tried so hard to disassociate himself from all of the others: it was the only way he could still function, after that. 

" _You're_  the one who killed Mirror." Stan said in astonishment, recoiling farther into the armchair.

"Most of them, I don't remember, or even know their names." Formal sighed, and finally turned around. His eyes were already tinted pinker. "But yes, I know Mirror. I thought it was unusual that his Tracker was the one to give me the distress signal, seeing there was no way he survived. Only a handful of Ricks have me listed as their Emergency contact."

"Why did he?" 

Formal clambered up and began to pour himself another drink into the same glass. His hand was unsteady, and some of the alcohol dribbled around the cup. Formal knocked it back quickly, some of it running down the sides of his mouth.

"We thought we could resist, get enough Ricks together to try. But we failed. And yes. I eventually pulled the trigger, when they caught on to what he was doing. Getting healthy, trying to expose the Council's methods to keep control over other Ricks. But he remained loyal to our group, all the way up to the very end. He never sold the rest of us out. And that's why I'm still here."

Formal still didn't turn around. Instead, he steadied himself with both hands curled around the small table and hunched over it. "I saw it in your eyes. You're disgusted with me." 

"No!" Stan's hand shot out to grip onto his upper arm. "I mean-- you didn't-- unless you wanted to? But I'm guessing, if you were in a resistance, that-"

"Of course not." Formal spat, finally straightening up with a stiff intake. "Do you know how many times I wanted to kill myself because of it? What I've done? I looked into my own eyes every day and pulled the trigger. Why would doing it to myself be any different? But  _you_ \-- or, the thought of you-- that's what kept me here." 

Stan's eyes briefly shut at how powerful that statement was.  _Rick_ , Stan found his inner voice calling out the name. That sharp pang of missing his own version returned: he didn't often think about how much he really meant to him.

When Stan opened his eyes again, Formal was standing directly in front of him, obscuring the view.

Stan didn't like the look he was giving him one bit. 

"You didn't think I would have gone out of my way and done all of this  _free of charge_ , did you?" Formal's two fingers glided up from Stan's neck, tipping his face up to look him in the eye with his fingers pressing his chin upward. "You forget. I'm still just like all the others, a selfish  _Rick_." Stan noticed that the same, sneering undertone he'd used with 'prison' came out yet again when he mentioned the name.

"So, what do you want." Stan grunted, feeling small as he remained seated and Rick stood over him. "I don't have money. And judging by your fancy place, you don't need any more, either." 

Formal burst Stan's personal bubble and got so close he'd nearly slipped into his lap. 

"Oh." Stan all but grunted. He should have known. 

"Yes." Formal whispered quietly, dipping in close to his ear. "You know what I want from you." 

"I-I can't." Stan put down his apple and held him away by the arms, trying to force some distance between them. "I love my Rick. Sure, you all seem the same, but... I can't." 

"You believe now is the time to be loyal?" Formal said sourly. A strand of Formal's brown hair above his ear had softened out of the gel and now poked out straight in its familiar, messy way. As much as he tried to escape his Rickness, he couldn't completely. "This is  _nothing_  in exchange for saving Rick's life. It's only a fair price." He palmed at the front of Stan's pants, pressing down hard and Stan hissed softly.

"Rick-  _my_  Rick- he's the only one I'd connect my body with." Stan growled and finally put down the lit cigar into the ashtray too, suddenly disgusted at himself for falling for such a cheap trick of bribery.

Formal screwed up his face for a brief second, before reaching out and caressing Stan's face. Stan flinched away, leaning away from his touch. " _Very interesting_  way to describe sex, Stanley. You aren't even a homosexual, are you? And yet you two still dated? Still fucked?" 

Stan continued to turn his cheek to him, and didn't answer the question in defiance. His jaw rippled as he bit down on it in frustration. Formal forced his cheek to the side again, forced him to look at him. Stan tried his best to be stoney, put on his best poker face, but the emotions coursing through him were too strong, and Formal kept stoking the fire.

"Hmm. But it seems you're not heterosexual either?  _Interesting_ ," Formal gave him a quizzical look, tutting softly.

"None of your damn business," Stan grunted, his nostrils starting to flare as he struggled to contain his anger. "Bottom line is I'm not cheating on Rick with you." 

"He  _left_  you." Formal purred, running his hand along the length of his thigh slowly. "You still have delusions that you're together? How many times do you think he's fucked someone else, since he left? Cheated on  _you?_  You already saw the way he crawled back and begged on his knees to Unity."

"I know what you're trying to do." Stan crossed his arms, and said through interlocked teeth. "It ain't going to work on me."

"You realize what happened in that memory, don’t you? Maybe you can’t put two and two together, so I’m going to spell this out for you. Since there’s no tiptoeing around this, Stan, he was impregnated by Unity, and on top of that, you realize he  _chose_  to have-" 

That was the last straw for Stan. His fist impacted hard to his jaw, and Formal was knocked down to the floor, his hand slapping loudly on the marble as he caught himself. Stan stood over him this time, picking up the cigar from the ashtray and continuing to puff. 

Without a word, the Rick slipped out a black handgun and pointed it at Stan, his facial expression had gone stone cold as he remained on the floor, propping himself up with one elbow. Another strand of brown hair had come loose, and Stan was reminded of the way that springs popped out of a cheap mattress.

"You wanna shoot me? He goes down with me." Stan's cold expression showed that he wasn't afraid, and he took another puff in defiance. The thick cloud of smoke obscured his face for a moment before curling away. Prison's effect on him was shining through. "But you already knew that, didn't you, Rick." 

"It's  _R_." Formal climbed to his feet with a hiss, but he kept his gun in his hand rather than tuck it away. 

"No, it's not." Stan smirked. "You're a Rick. Just like all the others. No matter what you do, you can't change that." 

Formal straightened up, his gun still in his hand as his arms swung. He was breathing a lot heavier after that unexpected deck to the face, which was flushing pinker along his cheek already. 

"You really won't sleep with me." Formal huffed, and tried to smooth the strands of hair back but it didn't work, and they sprang back. 

"No." Stan replied coldly, and spoke as he twisted and ground out the barely-smoked cigar and left it in the ashtray for good, no matter how nice it was. "There was one other Rick I thought about, once, but... he's gone now." 

"What if I told you," Formal turned away, and finally tucked the gun back away at the small of his back. "That I'll pull the plug on your Rick if you don't fuck me?"

Stan's reflexes were amazing, he had Formal's arms twisted behind his back and he'd wrestled him down, pinning him face-down with his cheek pressed up to the marble, the dragging of the skin making a quiet squeaking noise. Stan sat on and straddled him, one knee on either side of his chest, his one hand was more than enough to squeeze his crossed wrists together, and his other hand got a fistful of brown hair. From this close, he noticed that this Rick had his own, minuscule length of grey-blue roots growing in. He forced Formal's head up to look him in the eye. 

"Don't make me kill you." Stan warned, his voice rumbling low in his throat. 

The tuxedo'd Rick simply began to laugh, each laugh making his body jump underneath Stan as they punched out of his chest.

"You?! Come into my own home- and threaten to kill  _me?!"_  He continued to howl. "This place is weaponized to kingdom come! You- threatening _me_ - the executor- _HAAHAHA!_ "

Stan let out a irritated breath, shoving him away from him and climbing to his feet. "

"You really are loyal," Formal finally wheezed, continuing to chuckle, he spoke in choppy sentences punctuated by his wheezes. "They all tried to tell me- didn't believe them- needed to see it for myself." 

"So, what? This was some kind of test?" Stan groaned, irritated.

Formal continued to laugh like a maniac, still sprawled out belly-down on his fancy floors. 

"I'm sick of being toyed with by you Ricks,  _fuck!_ " Stan smoothed down his hair, trying to shake off the jitters now that the threat was gone, but that was easier said than done. "I was  _this close_  to using your own gun on you! Don't do that shit!"

Formal just pulled himself off the floor, wheezing out laughter all the while, and heaved himself up onto one of the couches, clutching at his stomach with both hands.

Stan attempted to pace off his sudden burst of adrenaline. "Is any of this real? Is that memory about Unity real, your sob story about some fisherman version of myself? Is this house real? The Rick downstairs- is he really-" 

"I mean, I wouldn't call it a 'sob story'," Formal grumbled. That seemed to do the trick to stop his chuckling. Formal avoided Stan's eyes and instead fidgeted and adjusted the end of his sleeve. "But yes. All of this is real- but I did want to see for myself, what a Stan is really like." 

"You've really never met another version of me before?" 

Formal just stuck out his lip in a signature pout and slowly shook his head back and forth.

"Well, it looks like your Stan has a lot more going for him than me." Stan plucked at his orange shirt and shrugged. "I probably wasn't the best one for you to meet first." 

"Maybe you're very different than my Stan, just like I'm different from your Rick. But you still told me everything that I want to know." Formal, like all his energy had suddenly disappeared, sank into the couch with his shoulders wilting. "You love him." 

"Is that what you're so afraid of? Why you've never met him?" Stan asked quietly.

Stan came up to the seated Rick and laid his hand on his knob of a knee. Formal tipped his head, and there was already water shimmering in his eyes.

 _Ah, crap._  Stan sighed softly. Even though it wasn't the Rick he knew so well, he seemed to have a spot spot for any and all of versions of the man he loved.

"...Would he want me?" Formal continued to speak in that soft, monotone way of his again. "Tell me the truth. After everything I've done- would he?" 

"Yes." Stan replied, quiet but certain and sure. 

Even though he'd been moments away from seriously hurting him just a short while ago, Stan cupped the thin man's sides and pulled him upwards to stand, letting his hands glide across the silky black material of the tux and folding his arms around him, tightening the hug as Formal tucked his head over his shoulder and wrapped his arms around him too.

Formal sighed deeply over his shoulder, clinging onto him. 

"Look. Give him a twenty and tell him you saw him drop it." Stan suggested, pulling away with his hands on his shoulders and they looked at one another. "Seriously. It's probably the fastest way to my heart. Because on one hand, I get free money, which is always a plus. And, uh, I also think that you're an honest person, unlike me."

Instead of answering, the Rick just drew in again. 

"He'll love you. I promise." Stan mumbled, cupping the back of his head and pressing the two of them cheek to cheek before he pulled away.

"Oh, and one more thing." Stan playfully swiped at the escaped hairs with his pointer, chuckling at the way they bounced back. "Lose the hair gel, alright?" 

Even though the obviously wealthy Rick probably had enough bathrooms in this mansion for a small army, he still chose to hunch over and wet his head under a running sink with a towel around his bare shoulders. Stan leaned with his arms crossed against a cabinet, watching as the Rick's perched fingers scrubbed through his dyed brown locks.

"You wanna know how I knew you wouldn't go through with it? Unplugging him?" Stan asked, hoping the Rick could hear him over the rush of the water. "That yellow blanket you put in there with him. That was you, wasn't it?"

The Rick shut off the tap and pulled the fluffy towel over his head, scrubbing it hard back and forth. "Sure was," He said quietly, like he was embarrassed that Stan had even noticed the detail. 

"You must have trusted Mirror a lot, to drop everything to save some random Rick who had his Tracker."

"Well-" Rick finally let the dampened towel settle back around his shoulders. With his damp hair falling naturally again, shirtless, Stan jolted subtly, but he hoped it wasn't enough for the Rick to notice. He looked exactly like his for a second, was all. 

"To tell you the truth, I've been bored out of my fucking skull since I got fired." Formal admitted. "At least saving him gave me something to do." He went right back to patting down his head, and the corner of Stan's mouth curled into a sad smile. 

"You've never asked if he'll be okay." Formal pointed out. 

"I've seen the types of things you guys can do." Stan kept that sad smile on his face. "I know you're taking good care of him."

"Alright. How's it look?" Formal almost shyly took the towel away, and that was more like the mop of hair Stan was used to. 

"Much better." Stan smirked, and clapped a hand to his shoulder. "Alright. Look alive."

"Wait- y-you're saying- you want me to go  _now?!_ " Formal tried to dig his heels in, but the marble offered close to zero traction, and his feet began to scramble instead. "Nonono, you don't understand-" 

"Hey, you've put this off for long enough." Stan continued to shove at his shoulders. "Yes,  _now_." 

"B-but- the vial, there's still-" 

"I'll watch the rest of it." Stan let go and Formal spun around, pouting. "If I'm being honest, I kinda wanted a little privacy from the get-go, anyway." 

"Wait- Stan- I haven't been- entirely truthful, okay?" Formal admitted. 

"Yeah, I figured." Stan couldn't help but chuckle. "Shoot."

"This isn't really my dimension." Formal admitted. "Does that matter? I know you and the Rick downstairs aren't- but-" 

"Doesn't matter." Stan dismissed him easily. He had to admit he was loving how the tables had turned- Stan had been the one confused and rallying off questions when they first met, and now he was the one doling out the answers. 

"And I took this job because- well, as you'd imagine, unclaimed Stans are becoming rarer as more keep getting taken, and your scarcity just keeps driving up the price, and I got-  _protective_  of him, the longer I kept it up. At first it was just a _stupid_  game of wealth, but I just couldn't- I needed to make more money, somehow, to keep- listen. Everything I've done is to have him, to pay to keep the other Ricks away from him." Formal paused for a moment, running his tongue along his lip. "Um." 

"I can't believe I have a price," Stan chuckled. "Come on, what is it? It'll boost my ego if you tell me."

Formal pointedly chose to ignore the question.

"Oh, come on. Ballpark figures, at least?" Stan prodded again. 

"It's not in dollars." Formal finally gave in. 

"Oh?" 

"It's in... Rickcoin." Formal shook his hanging head and pinched in embarrassment at the bridge of his nose. "That's a  _working_  title, of course."

"So, it's a- daily rental sort of thing? You outbid everyone else?" Stan was suddenly fascinated by the idea that he could have been the hottest commodity on the all-Rick market. "That's gotta be expensive, huh?" 

"W-well... yes, he's - he's the most expensive Stan." Formal final let it slip. "Because... what if I told you... that he's the very last Stan that has never met a Rick?" 

"Then, I'd tell you that it’s about time to go change that." Stan passed Formal his shirt and coat. "C'mon. Get dressed."

Formal smiled sadly and pulled on the button up, then the black coat. He dropped his chin as he twisted his fingers one by one.

"I knew your Rick, you know." Formal spoke up softly, than finally finished with his last button. "A-618, right?" 

Stan froze up, not knowing how to react. He'd known this already, he'd been told a long time ago that the Rick from his dimension died, and that was why Rick took his place. But to hear about him like this made it real. It was almost like he hadn't wrapped his head around the idea that someone could have actually known him.

"I never met him." Stan finally said quietly.

"He was a good man." Formal's tone also dipped down to be very quiet, and Stan didn't need him to say it outright for Stan to suspect he'd been the one to pull the trigger on him, too. "Well, as good of a man as a Rick can get. He resisted, too, earned himself a cozy spot in the Column of Criminals."

"If he wasn't gone, I never would’ve met mine." Stan smiled sadly. "So maybe it isn't such a bad thing." 

Formal suddenly thrust his hand out like he was trying to give a handshake, leaving Stan just to stare at his hand in confusion.

“I’ll make sure you won’t lose another.” He said, his hand unwavering as he held it out strong and straight. “He’s in good hands. You have my word.” The almost comically determined and serious look on the Rick’s face was enough to make Stan struggle to hold back a smile.

“Okay,” Stan said, and clapped his hand into the Rick’s. He realized that Formal might have been hinting at more than just healing him, he probably knew that Rick wasn’t a member of the council. Even knowing that, it seemed he’d still keep him safe. Stan clapped his second hand on top and squeezed Rick’s hand between the two of his in a warm gesture.

“Thank you.” Stan said, his voice genuine, and he couldn’t help but enjoy that surprised expression on Formal’s face at the clasping of their hands. It looked like it had been a while since he’d had someone touch him like this, with this kind of affection.

“Yeah, he'll love you.” Stan muttered under his breath as he let go, but Formal hadn’t seemed to hear him, and made his way to the door.

* * *

 Formal shoved his hands deep into his pockets, as he put one foot in front of the other and made his way along the wooden planks on the dock. His breath caught in his throat when he spotted the fisherman Stan, wearing the same red beanie as in the photo, flitting around and prepping the boat. He took in a nervous breath, and brought the green bill he'd been clutching out to look at it, it was wrinkled up and a little damp from his sweaty palm.

He could do this.

"Hello?" Formal called out, and Stan's ears perked and he turned around to look at him below, his brow wrinkling up in confusion, and he shielded his eyes from the sun.

"I saw this fall out of your pocket onto the dock." Formal extended the folded up twenty dollar bill to him, and Stan's expression brightened. He lowered himself down using a few ropes and then jumped the rest of the distance onto the dock with ease, and clapped the bill out of his hand with enthusiasm. 

"Hey,  _thanks_! I was looking for this thing everywhere! Figured it must have fallen out." Stan beamed at him and quickly pocketed the bill. Formal kept the smallest of smiles on his face as he drank in his Stan's face, finally, after all this time.

"Say, what're you so dressed up for, fancy pants?" Stan put his hands on his hips and his eyes swept up the Rick from head to toe. 

"Assassination." Formal could have slapped himself. Why on Earth did he say that?! 

Stan looked shocked for half of a second, and then his face split into a huge grin. "Heh! So you're a funny guy, huh? You almost got me! Wait, lemme guess, you're a double-O seven? Hahaha!" 

Formal was enraptured by him, and it showed much too plainly on his face, with his slack features and wide eyes.

"I can't believe I'm really speaking with..." Formal began, but hastily realized he needed to cover his tracks. "The man who caught a thousand pound fish."

"It was nine-seventy, but sure, I'll take it. Seems like you're a big fan of mine." Stan grinned, hoisting himself up with ease with some of the rigging. He extended a calloused hand to Formal. "The old dropped twenty trick. So you want a tour, or what?" 

"Please," Formal said quietly, and extended his hand into Stan's. Their curled around each other's, and Formal felt an eruption of butterflies.

"That'll be another twenty bucks." Stan teased, his brown eyes bright. 

"Of- of course!" Formal stuttered. 

"I'm pulling your leg." Stan chuckled, and unexpectedly tugged Formal up with ease, leaving the Rick scrambling. "Unless you  _want_  to tip me. Heh."

Formal straightened up on deck and smoothed down his clothing. He brought his hand to his nose and mouth, the stench of putrefying fish and brine overwhelming and making his eyes water. He took out his pocket square hastily and covered his nose, blinking away the tears.

"Wait, you didn't know? These things always smell like roses!" Stan clapped him hard on the back. "C'mon, I'll show you below deck." 

While Stan rambled away about all kinds of fishing jargon that Formal didn't want to try to understand, he just drank in his image silently, even when he was turned away. The two of them finally found themselves below deck together, when Stan unexpectedly blocked the narrow entrance by tilting a harpoon across it. Formal could have easily escaped still, if he wanted to.

"A harpoon?" Formal asked, amused, brows raising. 

"I haven't gotten a chance to use it yet, but trust me, I will." Stan brushed it off. He pointed at Formal. "You owe me an explanation."

"For what?" Formal took a seat on the wood bench that hugged the side of the boat near a row of portholes.

"Tell me.” Stan shook his head, and instead took a seat right next to him. "I saw it on your face. You feel it too. I know you can. Why… do I feel like I  _know_  you? When I know I've never seen you before?" Stan's voice rasped. “It’s so strong, like… déjà vu or something weird like that. I can’t place it.”

"You'll never believe me if I told you." Formal sighed, and hung his head.

Stan clapped his hand onto his shoulder, and Formal finally looked up to meet his eyes again. 

" _Try me_." Stan gave his shoulder a squeeze, his brown eyes shining but his expression showed how serious he was.

A faint smile climbed onto Formal's face. 

* * *

 Stan sat back down in front of the  _Roy: Beta_  and let out a nervous puff of breath before pulling the helmet back on and flipping down the googles that let him watch the memory. He flipped the same switch he’d seen Formal use, and he was plummeted into the middle of a new conversation, from a new memory.

Rick’s pale hands with those spidery fingers reached out to a curtain covering some kind of rectangular object and whipped it away, dust billowed into the air as he reached for the middle seam of a dark brown wooden piece of furniture.

"-used this method all the time, back when I- actually, never mind." Rick opened up the outward swinging doors, and stiffened when he saw a small triangle with an eye carved into the wood and immediately pressed his thumb over the pupil. It seemed he hadn't thought about using this mirror in a while, if it had been in storage somewhere gathering dust.

To someone who didn't know better, it would have looked like an innocent little doodle only about the size of a quarter, but Stan knew it was Bill. It was a close call, but Stan guessed that Bill could have already seen him even in that split second for Rick to react the way he did around that eye. Rick dug around in his pocket and brought out a switchblade, he carved a quick X into the eye, rendering it useless to Bill's voyeur. Finally, he let two halves of a mirrored but empty wardrobe unfold. Rick sat in a stool, and faced the middle. 

“We take turns talking.” Rick explained. “Try it.”

“Yeah, I think that was pretty obvious.” Unity snipped in response, looking to the left, then wrung Rick’s hands in his lap. “Okay. I hope this works, because we really need to talk.”

Rick swiveled his head to the right and looked at the reflection there. “Let’s just go ahead and pet that elephant in the room. You laid a couple eggs in me, look, I get it, accidents happen, it's not your fault you had a really shitty sex ed, but we have to agree on what happens now.”

“What are you talking about?” Unity looked to its side again, Rick’s expression more confused that he’d ever allow himself to show. “We’re just going to take them out. Right?”

Rick paused, taking control of the body but not even using it to talk, even when he could feel Unity’s building pressure of how many words it would have wanted to say like they were boiling over.

“...That wasn’t what I was thinking.” Rick finally said, not looking at either mirror but instead at the plain backing of the wardrobe.

Unity sneered, with the intention to be hurtful, and then Rick forced his eyes to train on the inside of the furniture once again, he didn’t really want to see his own face saying things he didn’t agree with, especially wearing these facial expressions.

“The fact that it’s been 48 hours and these things are still alive is- I need to see this through.” Rick’s hands were trembling, and so he clasped them together. “I have no idea how my body hasn’t rejected these things yet. I  _need_  to understand the science. This is a breakthrough on interspecies reproduction, on hybridization-”

“Oh,  _science_. All in the name of ‘science’, is it?” Unity lashed out. "It doesn't work this way. This can't work, and you know that, too, don't you? Why would any man  _want_  this? Don't men usually have some kind of stupid superiority complex because you  _don't_  have to go through this? Yeah, I’ve been here for a few years, Rick, it’s not like I don’t know how you humans’ cultures work!”

Rick took over, and did that same infuriating thing, stealing the microphone only to end up saying nothing.

“You're not a woman, Rick." Unity said coldly.

"W-well maybe I... maybe I  _am!_ " Rick snapped, suddenly letting himself give into the feelings of frustration and anger Unity was drawing out of him. "At least, well,  _partially--_ I'm not- I don't feel like I-I'm- completely male, o-okay?!" 

Unity was the one who said nothing this time.

“Yoon, honey, it’ll be over soon.” Rick covered his eyes instead of choose to look at anything. “You can host in someone else, even, if you want, just wait it out. I just- I  _have_  to-”

"Maybe I don’t want you doing this even if I got a new Root.” Unity began.

“Yoon- why are-”

“Because- you- you're still in love with  _him_!" Unity finally blurted, hands curling into tight fists. Rick’s expressive face gave away Unity’s feelings of betrayal. "You think of him when we fuck, every time. You wish he was the one who was! You bought a red dildo because that's  _his_  color, and you wanted to imagine it was him, not me!" 

"That's-" Rick lifted a finger and weakly tried to deny it, but lowered it as he realized he couldn't.

"You think about him all of the time. You've never been like that with me." Unity sniffled.

Again, Rick couldn't reply. 

"This is over." Unity said coldly. "I'm done, Rick. I’m never letting myself fall for this bullshit again." 

“Hey, it’s high emotions right n- c-c’mon, sweetie, let’s take a nice long sleep, I’ll take pills so we can share a wet dream- right? Yoon?”

Rick struggled to take control of anything as his body paraded around completely out of his control, at first calmly pulling open drawers but then the parasite’s irritation grew, and began ransacking, tearing the drawers out, dumping out their contents.

"Unity." Rick nearly whimpered when he finally made sense of what it was trying to do. “Stop this.”

Unity still kept his hands stolen from him, gripped onto the waistline of his pants and pulled Rick out of his pants one leg at a time, and tossed the pants aside. 

"Let's -we can- we need to talk more about this-" Rick stuttered. 

Rick watched helplessly as the contents of a bottle of chloroform were dumped onto a cloth. 

"Unity!" Rick insisted hard. "Don't- please don't leave me! _You're all I have left!_ "

When Rick came to again, the first thing he saw was his own crumpled body laying on his side in the mirror of one side of the wardrobe, still naked from the waist down. Rick attempted to stand, but collapsed onto an elbow, his face contorted in pain. He reached backward between his cheeks with a wince, all the while training his eyes into his reflection, and brought his bloodied fingers in front of his eyes. 

One thing was certain, that Unity had exited him rectally when he was unconscious. Rick lowered himself onto the ground again, and covered his face in shame and defeat. Stan couldn't imagine what that must have felt like, to be alone in his mind yet again, to be the only person trapped in the mind he hated so much.

Stan wished he could be there with him, he imagined his own reflection appearing in that mirror to stand over the Rick curled into himself on the ground, just to touch him, gather him into his arms, hold him close.

Stan could barely stand this, missing him this horribly was painful somewhere deep inside him.

It was blurry at first as the newer memory honed in, just like when Stan had first started to watch. Stan waited in anticipation, and finally it came into focus.

Rick was sitting on some kind of cushiony, extremely squishy material like the cross between a mattress and a sponge, his knees sinking deeply into the white material, and he was fully naked this time. He must have been on the inside of some kind of observational area, because behind a thick glass were two unoccupied chairs, and beyond that the usual darkness, blinking lights, and inventions signature of a Rick Laboratory. By the way Rick looked to the empty chairs, drawing his eye, Stan imagined that maybe there were meant to be two Ricks observing him, but for some reason they weren't there now.

The space was painfully bright, everything around him was white, and yet Rick’s skin on his arms still appeared to be much paler than usual, his breathing coming out in stuttering bursts. He'd brought in a long steel tray with tools and scalpels, various ray guns, and his busted Tracker.

“Rick-” Stan found the name falling out of his mouth, and he was white-knuckling the armrests again. He thought he knew where this was going, but he wished he didn't.

Rick grabbed the Tracker, curling around it. Rick gasped and groaned, making low noises of pain and whimpers in the bottom of his throat. 

"T-746, 水[Mizu]-002? _Hello_ , where the fuck are you two?!" Rick swore through another shudder of his body and his eyes clamped shut. He waited for a moment, but there was no response. "Come in, you assholes! It's- ah,  _fuck_ -"   

He curled over himself with his arms to his stomach, shuddering violently. When Rick finally pulled it together enough to do another search, both dimensions came up with a large X next to the number, and Rick swore and pounded his fist into the padding, both hands going up into his hair and although Stan couldn't feel it by watching, he was probably gripping on tight by the way the stringy muscles in his arms bulged. 

It looked like this was something he was going to have to go through alone. 

" _Lee_ ," Rick whimpered in pain, and Stan felt his eyes prickle at the unexpectedness of his nickname. Why was he calling out to him like this? Was it because he was delirious with the pain, or was it similar to what Formal had said, about how powerful the thought of him was? 

"I'm right here," Stan knew it did no good to talk to the memory like this, but he couldn't help himself. "I'm right here, baby." 

"Nnn- _Luh_ -unnn- Lee-" One of Rick's white hands skimmed over his stomach, where the imprint of the creature beneath it was obvious, a circle pressed up against his skin, like it was vacuum packed over a coil. The same type of coil that Unity had pulled into after he and Rick had rescued it. The coil was just big enough to fit under Rick's spread-fingered hand, as he caressed over it. Another imperfection on the skin was right next to it, a large half-sphere, discolored like a blister. 

●

Rick rubbed over the skin in tight circles, his breathing still ragged. Just like the way an internal thorn had pressed up against the skin when they had been implanted, another sharp point brushed up against his stomach's skin, echoing Rick's drag of his fingers from the interior. Rick guided the movement again, gliding his thumb over his skin and the tiny stinger followed closely from the other side of the barrier of muscle, tracing his movement as if by instinct. 

Stan's hands flew to clamp over his mouth. He didn't want to keep watching, and yet he found himself frozen, sickly fascinated, unable to look away from what might happen. Rick was in this chamber, what must have been a sterilized birthing chamber, because he was preparing to finally bring them out.

"That's it, Lee." Rick whispered to it, repeating the motion again, and grabbing for a tool with his other hand. "That's it."

Stan felt his heart squeeze painfully at the realization that Rick hadn't been crying out to him after all, but it seemed that he'd decided to _name_ the abomination after him. 

Rick hissed quietly as the stinger finally pierced the skin from the inside, the black tip appearing in a field of pale white, one stream of blood dribbling out from the wound. Rick arched over himself and cried out as the powerfully sharp stinger, akin to an egg tooth, sliced through him easily, his muscles unfurling and parting, the clean edges of meat appearing, showing how unbelievably sharp the stinger must have been.

Every instinct must have been screaming at him to stop, but Rick still dove in with the scalpel and tried to widen the exit further. Stan could see movement as the creature struggled to free itself, but circles of black were pounding in the field of vision in time to Rick's rapid heartbeat, which was rushing loudly in his ears. The white of the bedding became white everywhere, and then Rick lost consciousness.   

○

Stan was expecting a new memory, but the same interior of the birthing chamber met him once again. The memory’s gaze scanned slowly, until it finally settled on it. Laying motionless within the blotted and absorbed red, wet like a fresh stamp pad brimming with ink, a fleshy pink body in lay in wiggly lines like a discarded jump rope.

"No." Rick reached out and slipped his slippery red-coated hand gently underneath, and the body draped limply into his palm. " _No_ \- no no no-"

Rick reached for his busted and hastily repaired Tracker, it was patched up with electrical tape but the cracks extended far into the plastic, and some of the tape was curling up around the edges, exposing the grey undersides.

"Scan for signs of life." Rick demanded, his voice weak. The machine sent out a horizontal laser that scanned the red blot and the creature draped motionless on top of it. 

 _Negative._ The machine whirred again, the damaged screen pixels skittering across it.  _Dangerous level of owner's blood detected. Input one: emergency contact list. Two: Emergency Citadel Services. Three-_

"Scan again." Rick interrupted, and the laser passed over the pale pink worm's limp body again. 

_Negative._

Rick swore and collected what looked like intestine it into his hands, already starting to jerk with sobs. 

" _Scan again._ " Rick insisted through gritted teeth, but this time the machine did nothing. "I'll f-fucking break you, for good this time, y-you piece of-"

_Fatal level of blood loss imminent._

"Fuck." Rick was shaking hard now, and was barely able to hold himself up. "F-f-fuck-"

With a shaky hand, he grabbed one of the weapons from the steel tray: it was a very tiny gun and completely blue. As Rick grimaced and sank the tip of the gun over the untouched protruding bubble, the skin frosting over white as he froze the other unborn hybrid of the set, the Tracker pinged quietly.

_Emergency contact en route._

"You good, good machine." Rick wept, clinging onto the jankily repaired machine, kissing it over and over onto the screen, onto the wrinkled electrical tape. "Good boy. You-you- did good. I'm sorry. I'm s-sorry..." 

Rick dug his thumb into a recording button, keeping the Tracker next to his face, one cheek resting on the padding. He tried to find his voice for a moment, and Stan watched at the edge of his seat. 

"Stan," Rick's voice cracked at the name, and Stan stiffened in the armchair was in viewing it. For a second it felt like he wasn't watching anything, it was like Rick was talking directly to him. 

"I know you're mad at me. You're- I mean, fuck, you're sure as hell allowed to be. But if you're hearing this, I-I think I... maybe I died, baby." Rick's voice was losing strength fast, too.

"If you're listening- I just needed to-" He choked up on the tears in the back of his throat. "I never should have gone back to Unity, I never should have tried to carry these--  _things_. I wish, I- I-I should have stayed with you, baby, I just wanted to keep you safe. But maybe you'll get matched with another Rick this time, a better one, a much better Rick than me."

"I left without even telling you- I'm s-sorry you have to hear this from a recording, but I need you to know this. I love you, Stan." Rick struggled to keep speaking, curling the Tracker closer to his mouth. He whispered hoarsely this time. "I love you. With every part of my messed up, shitty soul. That's wh-what I needed to say."

Stan watched helplessly as Rick's vision began to spot with black, and then a snowstorm of white, he could barely see as a portal opened up on the other side of the glass and Formal stepped out, curiously laying a hand onto the glass that separated them. With that, the memory ended, and Stan listened to the rush and gurgling noises of the liquid being put back inside the vial.

Stan took off the helmet with the utmost care this time, placing it gingerly on the machine, his reddened eyes freely streaming tears down his face.

Stan had noted the line that Formal had brought the dial to before, and brought it up even one more notch. He also was pretty sure which button would get rid of the glass: he tried it, and pumped his fist in triumph when the protective glass rotated away.

Rick gasped and sputtered softly, wheezing. It looked like the breathing device was being more hurtful than helpful now, so Stan found the latch at the back of his head and let the breathing apparatus fall away from his face, it rested at the base of his neck instead. 

Stan immediately reached to cup his face in both of his hands once it was freed, cradling the sides of his face in his palms. Rick wheezed softly, but at least he was breathing on his own. He still didn't open his eyes, maybe he still couldn't.

"Rick." Stan sighed, pulling forward much closer to him, his face hovering right next to his ear. "I hope you can hear me."

There was no reply, just another quiet inhale as Rick gasped softly.

Stan had thought over and over about what he'd say to him when he sat in prison, where he'd punch him so it would hurt the most, he imagined their reunion to go a little more like what he'd yelled at the capsule when he first saw it.

He was feeling pretty grateful to get the second chance.

"I'm not mad about what happened with Unity." Stan began, licking his lips nervously. "You think of them like your kids, even if it's a parasite, even if it was an accident."

"Y'know, I thought that was a joke at first, when you said that about Stan Junior. When you said it was like I was their Dad. But- I know now, I guess that's really how you felt. I'm sorry the two of yours didn't make it, Rick. I really am. And yeah, I still have Stan Junior. I found the jar, right where you hid 'em in my underwear drawer." Stan felt himself getting a little choked up too, but chuckled at the same time at the ridiculous notion of Rick being worried about some stupid jar of eyeballs.

A few miles away, another Tracker was beeping rapidly, the small sirens on top casting red glows to sweep around the wood ceilings of a boat cabin. 

" _Alert_ : Capsule open.  _Alert_ : Capsule-"

 Formal smacked at the device desperately, like an irritated person turning off their morning alarm, and continued with the task at had, making out with Stan. The two were too busy kissing to notice anything in their paths, knocking into shelving, loose items sprinkling to the ground and rolling with each bob and dip of the vessel.

Stan guided Formal to lay on his back, both ducking down very low into the lowest cot on a bunk of three, the two of them giggling elatedly into one another's mouths. Stan's red beanie fell off and became a flattened red circle on his bed, exposing his long brown locks as he rolled over Rick to the other side, thick arms firmly wrapped around the back of his white dress shirt. 

"I saw your memories, all of it. Heard the message you recorded into the Tracker for me. Rick, I don't know why I never told you either. I should've, probably  _would've_ , if we just had a little more time. Anyway, what I mean is... I love you, too." Stan reached out and took Rick's hand that was cold to the touch, his second joining on top.

"I love you more than I can understand, I don't think my brain is smart enough to get everything about why we match like we do. Why we were made for each other. But you understand it all, don't you?" Stan lowered his gaze and bowed his head, returning the squeeze to their hands clasped within one another's.  

"Open your eyes," Stan squeezed his hand within his and clutched them to his chest. "I need to see you." 

Stan adjusted the dial again, spinning it up two more notches, then finally decided on three. Rick continued to rattle in breaths, eyelids fluttering now. Stan rushed to his side, grabbing up his hand up with two of his right away. 

"I'm right here." Stan kissed the ridge of his knuckles. "Please." 

Finally, Rick forced them to open, already looking off to the side at Stan, even though the eyelashes were still touching as he squinted. Stan squished his mouth and nose to the back of Rick's hand, blinking rapidly as water welled up in his eyes and stained them much pinker.

Rather than say anything, Stan began to lean in with their fingers still intertwined, bringing their faces close together. Stan leaned over him with one arm, very careful to not touch any of the bundle of tubes as his elbow sunk into the softness of the yellow blanket, and he took the side of his face into his hand, his other still squeezing on tight with their fingers interlocked.

Stan drank in every moment he could of Rick's gaze, even though they were opened to only slits and he couldn't see that familiar pair of eyes as well as he'd have liked.

After a tense moment, Rick's eyes exhaustedly fell closed again, and Stan closed that distance and pressed a brief kiss over his shut lips. "Good," Stan whispered into his lips as he lingered in that close proximity. "Good job, Rick. I knew you could do it, knew you were in there." 

His voice had grown too watery toward the end of his sentence, and wobbled almost too hard for him to control. He waited there, still hovering in that intimate space just a few inches away from his face.  

"I wanted to tell you that I've decided, now. That I don't care how long it takes. I'm going to wait for you. No matter how long it takes for you to come back. You're still it for me, Rick." 

When a messy-haired, and very much kissed out Formal returned to his Lab, he found the machine was closed back up again, all of the dials set back at their original levels, and Stan had pulled up a chair and was slumbering heavily with his head resting in his folded arms on top of it the dome of glass.

"Hey," Formal came up and laid a hand on his bicep, and Stan took in a breath sharply and woke up, running his hand down his face and muttering, still keeping himself draped over the top of the glass. His eyelids were puffy as they folded open.

"How'd it go?" Stan asked, his voice groggy with sleep. 

"Good- actually,  _great_." Formal was beaming. "And the memories?" 

Instead of answering, Stan just began to blink rapidly, his mouth stiffening. His eyes grew pinker by the second, and Formal pulled forward and wound his arms around him gently. 

"Tell me." Formal prompted gently into his ear, and rubbed his back in a slow circle.

"They were... it was... _horrible_." Stan shuddered, and Formal increased the pressure of his embrace. "Please. If you can, take out some of it before you put those memories back into his head. He doesn't need all of it back, he shouldn't have to see what he saw." 

"I can try." Formal muttered. 

"Why?  _Why_  did he do this to himself? Take the risk?" Stan's voice had grown strained and raspy. "He didn't die this time, but what if he  _does_ , later on, and I wouldn't know, or how long would it be before I even found out, or if I would... _ever_ find out, and I wouldn't- I couldn't even be the one at his side when he-" His voice broke and he buried his face into Formal's shoulder, his chest jumping with silent sobs. 

"What did I tell you? I said I won't let you lose another." Formal soothed him, they pressed ear-to-ear and Formal continued to drag his hand in slow loops. "I gave you my word. I will protect him."

Stan continued to silently cry, slumping forward out of his chair into Formal's arms and slipping toward the ground at the movement, falling in slow motion, Formal supporting him all the while and they wound up in an embrace on the ground. 

"Thank you." Stan meant it much more deeply this time. "Thank you, Rick." 

The man didn't protest the name this time around. 

After Formal had portal'd Stan away, all of his money was unfortunately tied up in Rickcoin, so he sent him away with a few pieces of valuable art instead. Formal set to work to correct any problems that might have happened when Stan opened the capsule.

He scanned for new bacteria or germs that might have been introduced to the sealed system, and Rick's hands, face, and lips lit up brightly, showing exactly where Stan had touched. 

Formal began to program it to burn away all of the germs to get the space sanitized again, when he had a thought pass his mind. He let his curiosity get the best of him- had there been a little under-the-blanket action here? 

Formal made sure to scan the full body once again. Just as he'd thought- those were still the only areas on his body that Stan had touched. 

"Hm." Formal mused to himself. Finally, he reached into the shelving again and took out Mirror's now-repaired Tracker, some of the plastic was grafted on a few shades darker, and the other one in the matching set of the black hexagon bolts, one on the side of Rick's forehead, was fitted into one of the inputs. He spun the dial up only a few notches, once again to the lowest level, and spoke.

"He's a good one, Rogue. You should stop doing stupid shit like this, you'll lose him to another Rick if you kill yourself." Formal said. 

 _I WASN'T TRYING TO KILL MYSELF, DIPSHIT._ The screen on the Tracker displayed. _Shut the fuck up and fix me already, if it was up to me I'd be up and running and doing a line of blow by now. Incompetent piece of shit._

"At least _someone_ thanked me." Formal couldn't help but smirk before sinking his finger into a button and burning away all of the microscopic intruders. "You know, maybe I will unplug your ungrateful ass." 

The screen went blank, and Formal chuckled and continued to fiddle with the machine.

"That's what I thought." He snipped, and a spindly metal arm began to spray the inside of the glass, another that followed close behind squeegeed it.

While Formal admitted some of it could have gone smoother, like how the ease of extracting the memories had made Stan a little suspicious, he suspected that Stan hadn't guessed that they'd actually been working together the entire time. All Rick wanted was for Stan to get his message and take him out of prison, and Formal had struck up the deal because he'd wanted to test the waters with what a Stan was like first. 

_Maybe we shouldn't have let him see it. I forget how desensitized us Ricks are by now._

"Yeah, we are." Formal sighed. "But you were right. It was better this way, better than a voice recording or using this machine to talk to him."

 _As long as he knows._ The comatose Rick said through the Tracker. 

"He knows," Formal said softly, his spindly fingers flipping and pressing buttons all over the board. "I have a feeling he already did." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, it will be a really weird feeling to actually end this story! The next chapter might wind up being a whopper, but I'll try my best to not split it up again, haha. 
> 
> I really hope you guys liked Formal... his role has been in the back burner of my mind for a while now, as was the idea that part of Rick's attraction to Unity was because it had the potential to possess him. And it seems that every Stan in the universe has now met a Rick! 
> 
> I'm so happy that people are reading this, and each comment really means a lot to me ♡♡♡ Can't wait to wrap this up, and I promise there will be a happy ending to tie this all up next! :-)


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